Perfect Life, Perfect Spike
by BallinBlonde21
Summary: Clary had always had the perfect life, the perfect family, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect grades, the perfect spike, but when she goes to college, she learns secrets that unravel the truth behind her 'perfect life'. ALL HUMAN w/Clace, Malec, and Sizzy
1. Old Friends

_Here's the all human fanfic! (: hehe 5 more reviews on My Love Is Basketball for special bonus scene! As soon as the bonus scene is done, I will begin the SEQUEL whoop whoop! :)_

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><p>The sun glistened through the bedroom window, pouring warm golden sunshine all over the orange walls, casting the room in a sparkling glow. Simon was stretched out atop Clary's daybed, his feet dangling over the edge, toes scraping the paint-stained carpet. Behind his oval glasses, his dark brown eyes squinted at the screen of his hand-held video game as his thumbs circled quickly, pushing buttons and zapping opponents. Buzzing and beeping noises pinged out of the small speakers, filling the silent void that had settled in the room.<p>

Clary lifted her fiery hair off her neck, checking each angle of her reflection with pursed lips, her red curls piling up into an elegant, volumized ponytail. She ducked her chin and batted her thick, black eyelashes at the reflective glass, giggling as she heard the familiar sound of failure echoing from the speakers of her boyfriend's Nintendo DS. She watched him quizzically as he cursed quietly, his long brown hair falling into his dark eyes. "These graphics suck!" he yelled at the video game, glaring daggers into the small screen.

She smiled at him when he caught her gaze in the mirror. "Simon," she reprimanded, raising her pale eyebrows, trying to look stern, "just because you lose doesn't mean you can blame the pretty pictures." He growled and tossed his game aside, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her onto his lap. She squealed like a young girl as his teeth caught her earlobe, his tongue grazing her skin. "I have to get ready!" she protested. His arms only held onto her tighter. She struggled against his hold, knowing she could break it easily, but not wanting to destroy his manly pride. She squirmed and fought, laughing the whole time and telling him how incredibly stupid he was.

After a few minutes of wrestling with him, she pinched the skin on his arms tightly, until the pressure of his grip around her retreated. "Ow," he groaned, rubbing the bright pink fingerprints on his forearms. Clary blew him a kiss from where she was repositioned in front of her white, stained vanity. Simon rolled his eyes and laced his fingers behind his head, leaning against the wooden headboard of the daybed, wrinkling the soft purple quilt with his weight. "I don't see why you have to go to orientation," he grumbled, eyes searching the floor where his video game had landed. Clary watched him as she picked up the tube of sunscreen and poured a glob of pearly-white sunscreen into her pale palm. "You're not living in the dorms anyway."

Clary snorted, rubbing the sunscreen around on her fingertips. "Si," she said as she gently massaged the sunscreen onto her pale, freckled face, "I'm going to check out the buildings, the classes, and the campus." She was using her come-on-you-idiot voice. She sat onto the bed next to him, letting the sunscreen soak into her bare arms, careful not to let them touch her shimmering, golden tank top. Simon moved to put his arm around her, but she moved away. "You'll get sunscreen on you, and then you'll have a weird tan line, like that one from fifth grade."

Simon rolled his eyes and tossed her a shut up look. "If you're just going to look in buildings, why do you have so much sunscreen on?" She slapped him on the arm, smiling ruefully at the echoing smacking sound it made. "Abusive much?" he asked, standing up from the bed and pulling a key ring out of his pocket and twirling it around on his index finger. "Ready now?" Clary nodded and grabbed her frayed messenger bag, containing her wallet, sketchpad, and pencils. Simon followed her out the door and to Eric's bright orange van he had allowed them to use for the day. Simon sprinted down the sidewalk and hopped into the driver's seat, rolling down the window with the old-fashioned hand crank.

"Want some candy, little girl?" he asked, raising his voice an octave and eyeing Clary hungrily. Clary flipped her hair in a snobby way, turning her nose up toward the air as she walked down the concrete sidewalk.

"I'm not that cheap, buddy," she told him as she slid into the passenger seat opposite Simon, making sure to avoid the spring poking through the gray fabric. Simon plugged the key into the ignition and turned it, the engine sputtering as it struggled to turn over. "Are you sure this is safe?" Clary asked, staring warily at the hood, waiting for smoke to roll out in dark gray puffs. Simon smiled as the van started, backing swiftly out of the driveway and onto the streets of New York City.

"About 80% sure." His grin widened at Clary's groan. He pulled onto the highway as Clary stared at the scenery, passing by in a blur of colors. St. Xavier's was about forty-five minutes away from where Clary lived. Clary had never dreamed she'd be going to college so close to home, but St. Xavier's had an amazing art program and had offered Clary a full volleyball scholarship, amazed by her skills on the court. She had accepted immediately, knowing there wouldn't be a better offer. They pulled up behind a small black car, dust caking the shiny, black exterior. Out of the corner of her green eye, Clary saw Simon glance at her and then look back at the car. A sharp honk pierced the air, causing Clary to cringe back against the seat. She looked out the windshield and saw a hand sticking out of the rolled window of the black car, flipping Simon the bird as he switched lanes and sped away.

On the retreating car's back windshield, Clary saw that someone had written _Honk if you're horny _in the brown dust. She giggled as cars began to honk all over the freeway, rhythmically, some short and staccato, some just laying on their horn. Clary erupted into fits of laughter as the divided highway became a honking orchestra. Simon reached over and clasped his fingers around Clary's frail ones, loving the sound of her laugh.

He and Clary had been friends since they were young, bonding over video games and manga, literally living at a place that sold comics, since Clary's father Luke owned a book store. She'd been his friend even after the awkward stage where everything seemed too big for his body, after the glasses, after the braces and retainer. She'd been his friend through thick and thin, and when he asked her out, he'd vowed to be hers, too. "Simon, you're going to miss the exit!" Clary squealed, pulling him out of his thoughts. He ignored the chorus of horns as he haphazardly shifted lanes, hitting the onramp with little time to spare. He heard Clary exhale a breath beside him.

"So," Simon said, trying to calm Clary's nerve and fill the gap of silence, "what goes on at this orientation?" Clary grimaced slightly.

"You learn where to go, about your classes. It's going to be boring." Simon shuddered, hoping he didn't have to tag along.

"I'm just your ride there, right?" Clary nodded, her gaze returning calmly out the window.

"Yeah, Mom and Dad will bring my stuff for the move tonight," she mumbled. "Red one!" she yelled immediately after, her fist connecting with Simon's arm as a red Volkswagen bug pulled up beside the orange van.

"Wait, move?" Simon squeaked out, his arm stinging from her amazing right hook. Clary nodded, unfazed by her announcement. "Why didn't you tell me you were moving in today?" He realized he had raises his voice and focused his eyes back on the road, counting his breathing.

"Because I knew you'd react like this," she stated calmly, her fingers absently playing with a lock of her red hair. "You're so afraid of change, so afraid of the mystery of the future, that I knew you'd flip out." Simon's thick, caterpillar eyebrows knit together in thought.

"So, when, exactly, were you going to tell me?" Hurt flashed through his eyes, followed by anger, and Clary side, dropping her hands onto the seat and staring at the road.

"In three days, when we moved you into NYU." Simon's face fell into a frown as he hit an off ramp, in route to St. Xavier's college. "I'm sorry. I just wanted this day to be—" she looked thoughtfully at the clear, blue sky. "…peaceful," she settled on as a word to describe her perfect going-away day. She felt a stab in her chest as Simon's jaw tensed. He had so much trouble letting her go, always wanting to protect her from everything. "Si, I need to do this on my own. I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself." Simon pulled into the parking lot of St. Xavier's filled with bubbly college students bustling about, whether to summer classes, orientation, or dorm rooms.

"Whatever," he said throwing the car in park and glaring at the windshield, waiting for Clary to leave. She grabbed the shoulder strap of her messenger bag and hopped out, waving to Simon as he sped away, dodging pedestrians in his haste. Her hand fell limply to her side when she realized he hadn't returned her wave. He could be so difficult sometimes. She looked at the braided straps of her flip flops as she headed to the student information office, avoiding the gaze of many people, offering small hello's to anyone who spoke to her. She shoved through the glass door to the office, the tingling of bells filling her ears.

"Well, hello, darling," A woman with jet-black hair and piercing blue eyes looked up at her from behind the desk. A smile spread across Clary's face.

"Maryse," she breathed, recognizing her mother's old friend. The woman stood up, extending her hand to Clary. She had on a black power suit and bright red stilettos, causing her to tower over Clary's five foot and two inches of height.

"Clarissa Fairchild," she smiled as Clary took her hand. "How's Jocelyn," she asked, appraising Clary's freckled face and bright red locks with a small nod of approval.

"She's happy," Clary said dreamily, thinking of her mother and father.

"Good, good," Maryse murmured. She rifled through some files on her desk, placing a thick manila envelope in Clary's small hands. Clary opened it and pulled out a map, watching as Maryse pointed to where Clary's classes would be and how to get to the places. "Got it?" she asked at the end, slightly out of breath from all the explaining.

"I think so," Clary said unsurely, trying to remember if Life Drawing 101 was in building A or building F. Maryse's expression turned to one of displeasure, but then her eyes lit up.

"Ah, Isabelle, could you show Clary around?" Clary followed the woman's gaze, seeing a girl with straight black hair and bright blue eyes looking at her. She was wearing a light gray dress and black high heels that clicked against the tile of the office.

"Uh, sure, mom…" she said, motioning Clary over. "Hey, I'm Izzy." She pushed her way through the crowd of students and walked out into the sunny August day, her skin already tan from the previous summer months. "I'm Maryse's daughter." Clary's face lit up with recognition.

"Oh! You and I used to get Alec in trouble all the time!" Izzy laughed, looking up at the sky as Clary's mind filled with images of an eleven-year-old boy with short black hair and cutting blue eyes.

"So you're Clarissa, the one that's going to be living with Alec and me." Clary nodded, and Izzy's face cracked into a slow grin. "We are going to have so much fun," she said maliciously, planning pranks against Alec. The red-headed girl smiled in agreement, plotting her own tricks. "Well, Clary, what's your first class?" She asked, snatching the schedule from Clary's thick file. "Ah, Life Drawing 101, in building C." Clary laughed silently. This was going to be a long year if she kept getting her buildings mixed up. "Follow me!" Izzy called proudly, maneuvering the paved sidewalks easily and efficiently, as if she'd lived here all of her life. An hour later, the two girls sat on the ledge of a fountain in the courtyard, eating ice cream cones they had bought.

"This is a big campus," Clary commented, staring at the ivory-covered walls of the many brick buildings. Izzy mumbled something incoherently around a mouthful of mint chocolate chip. The sidewalks were built artistically around the gnarled trunks of thick oak trees and students wandered around aimlessly; looking at maps they couldn't seem to follow. "How do you know it so well?" Clary asked, knowing Izzy was the same age as herself. Isabelle swallowed a green glob of melted dairy and laughed quietly.

"I prank Alec a lot," was her only explanation. "Speak of the devil," she muttered as her older brother approached, smiling at a boy walking with him. The boy's hair was spiky and dyed about six different colors, ranging from orange, to green, to blue. His eyes were caked with fuchsia makeup and when he moved, he left a cloud of glitter.

"Izzy, darling, you look gorgeous," the boy said in a voice that made Clary's gay-dar go haywire. He looked the black-haired girl up and down, mumbling comments of approval. "And who is your equally as beautiful friend." He gestured toward Clary with a flourish, his painted lips twisted into a gigantic grin.

"This is Clary. Clary, this is Alec's boyfriend Magnus." Clary looked between Alec and Magnus, before finally reaching out to shake the sparkly one's hand. She hadn't known that Alec was gay, but then again, she hadn't seen the lightwoods in nearly ten years, since she was eight. "Clary's going to college here, too!" She cheered. "And she's living with us. Isn't that great, Alec?" Izzy and Magnus jumped up and down in a weird form of a happy dance while Alec sighed deeply, remembering Izzy and Clary as the devilish duo. Clary flashed him a wicked grin and licked a drip of her Superman ice cream off her finger.

"We have somewhere to be," Alec said, looking at his worn shoes. Magnus looked confused.

"Where would that be, dear?" he asked. Alec shot daggers at his boyfriend and dragged him away but a strand of pink hair.

"Anywhere but here." Izzy and Clary burst into giggles as Magnus struggled to get away from Alec, but Alec held firm, not letting Magnus go until they were all the way on the other end of the courtyard, when Isabelle waved them both off. The two girls finished their frozen snacks as the sun beat down on both of them.

"Let's go to the apartment!" Izzy broke the silence excitedly, running down a sidewalk that lead to what Clary assumed was the parking lot.

"But my 'rents are picking me up here." Clary said, watching Izzy unlock a flashy red Chevy Camaro. Clary's jaw dropped at the sight. She couldn't even begin to explain how much she wanted to ride in that car. "You know what? Let me call them," she said, punching the familiar numbers into her extremely dated cell phone. After leaving her mom a message that she'd be waiting at the apartment, she slid into the passenger seat of Izzy's car, staring at the horizon as Izzy sped off, driving them headfirst into the unknown future.

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><p><em>Um...so...inspire me? Reviews are awesome, so be awesome and review! :D<em>


	2. New Enemies

_Warning: Filler! But here's the update, later than I would have hoped, but I've been a very, very busy person lately :D haha enjoy!_

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><p>The tall building loomed before Clary, who stood in awe of its towering, medieval glory. It was a cathedral, its steeples seeming to spiral up at odd angles from the sharp slope of the darkly shingled roof. It seemed to be made of deep brown bricks, stacked unevenly, shifted with time, making the church tilt slightly to the left. Even the probably once majestic and beautiful stained glass looked ominous as vines crept their way up and around them, creating a green frame of tentacles.<p>

Clary jumped, startled as Isabelle opened the creaky, wrought iron gate, revealing a weatherworn and cracked sidewalk that twisted and turned its way through the front lawn's thick green shrubbery. The fiery headed girl stepped through, letting the gate clatter and bang shut behind her. She tried to fight back against the fear gripping her stomach, making it do flips and preventing her from moving forward at a quick pace, only allowing her small, baby-like shuffles. She watched her black-haired friend stride proudly forward, turning along the tangled path skillfully, as if oblivious to the unseen force pushing away any and all living things.

Tucking a red curl behind her ear, she forced her left foot off the ground, using more effort than usually necessary to plant it firmly in front of her right one. She tried to ignore her brain's frightening images of the bushes reaching out and clasping her ankles with their leafy branches, tripping her and sucking her into the depths of the unknown.

_You are being such a coward_, she thought to herself angrily, focusing her attention not on the house of horrors, but on the high-fashion, high-on-personality girl strutting in front of her, sashaying forward as if she were on a catwalk in Paris, France instead of on the uneven pathway that lead the way to an even more uneven building. Clary jogged, unbalanced, as she tried to catch up, her carrot ringlets bouncing around her in perfect time with the loud slap of her flip flops against the paved ground. "So," she asked, catching up to her friend, her voice slightly shaky with the waves of terror that continued to roll over her body, "what is this place?" Izzy kept walking, either ignoring or pondering the question for a moment. Her dark eyes were focused in the distance, on the ornate, wooden door that waited them at the end of the path, where it was set deeply into the aged bricks.

"The Institute," came her simple reply about twenty seconds later. Clary's green eyes widened in confusion. The dark, scary church did not look like an institution. In Clary's eyes, it seemed more like an adequate set for the next big horror movie, which probably would involve a murderous nun or psycho priest. She heard Isabelle giggle quietly as she blew a strand of hair from in front of her eyes. "Since, 'technically,'" she used her fingers to make air quotes, "it's supposed to be a place of learning, my parents decided that 'The Institute' would be the perfect name to keep us focused on our studies and ward off any wild children." She rolled her eyes, coming to an abrupt halt. Clary hadn't even realized they'd reached the doors until she nearly ran face first into the stained wood. They towered nearly four feet of Clary's five-foot-two-inch height. Izzy wrapped her long, thin fingers around the bronze handle, twisting it. The handle rattled under Isabelle's grip but didn't budge. She cursed, fumbling around in her Gucci purse.

"Aha!" Izzy slipped her hand from her bag, a bronze, ornate key dangling from her crimson fingertips. She turned around and shoved the key into the lock, grunting quietly as she turned the rusted lock. "But you know what it really is?" A smile played one her lips as she returned the key to her purse.

"What?" Clary asked, preparing herself for the horror story that was sure to follow the announcement.

Izzy kicked open the door with the heel of her stiletto. "An awesome place to throw sick college parties." She disappeared into the blackened doorway, leaving Clary wondering whether she should follow or remain. An arm popped out of the door before Clary could react, snatching her into the dark unknown. "Where is that light switch?" Clary heard Izzy ask the darkness as she stumbled around aimlessly, the arm having released here. She heard a bump and a loud curse. Then the room was illuminated with an orange glow. "Stupid light bulbs, my parents couldn't even splurge on the white ones; we had to get the icky yellow ones." Izzy impatiently grabbed one of Clary's arms and tugged her through a narrow hallway just off the entry. The walls were close together, nearly suffocating. If Clary began flap her arms like a chicken, her elbows would brush both walls, and probably remove some of the floral wallpaper as she did. Soon enough, the walls parted before Clary's eyes, and she gratefully stepped through the opening.

Clary looked around, recognizing the place as just what it appeared to be from the outside, an old church. Pews were lined up row after row, all facing an elaborate and aged alter. Candles were lit all around the sanctuary, casting fire-orange shadows up the walls, dancing their way onto the ceiling. Izzy caught Clary's stare. "I know, creepy, right?" Clary cocked her head to the side, surveying the room, seeing the peaceful front with the underlying agony of the unused, cobweb filled chapel.

"I was thinking more…painfully artistic?" Izzy snorted unattractively, towing Clary toward the only object in the room not from the nineteenth century. Izzy pushed the down button on the elevator, waiting as the bars rattled open. The two girls stepped inside and waited as the elevator hummed down the shaft.

Izzy and Clary stumbled out of the elevator as soon as it stopped. "So…the grand tour?" Izzy asked, not looking forward. Clary sighed, shaking her head.

"Nah, I memorize places more by wandering aimlessly around until I'm able to remember my way." Izzy raised an eyebrow, and Clary shrugged, facing forward down the hallway. It had always been that way. When Clary moved from apartment complex to house to apartment complex to finally the bookstore her family lived in for her entire high school career, she'd denied a tour every time, usually earning the same look Isabelle had just given here. Izzy nodded in return, a slow smile breaking across her face.

"Hey, one for old time's sake?" she asked, winking and jerking her head toward her brother, who had just emerged from a room off the hallway. His face was flush and his usually perfect black hair askew. Clary couldn't see his eyes, but she agreed quickly, following Izzy as they slinked silently down the hallway, disappearing into one of the many doors. Clary helped Izzy as they set the trap, nearly giving themselves away with their loud hysterics. "Shhh," Isabelle complained, pressing a finger to her lips. They finished their prank, everything in place and ready for Alec.

Isabelle snickered, flicking off the kitchen light switch and nodding at Clary, motioning for her to get down. "Alec! Come into the kitchen! Quick!" Clary covered a laugh with her hand. Her red hair was a wild frizz around her face as she ducked under the kitchen table, completely hidden from view. She glanced over at Isabelle, who was jammed in the space between the fridge and the wall, and the girl flashed her a thumbs up. They heard Alec's heavy footsteps as he approached the kitchen.

"Izzy?" he asked, concerned. He pushed on the light and yelped. The room was flooded with light as Clary and Izzy stumbled from their hiding places, pointing at Alec who was hopping around with a mousetrap dangling from his finger tip. "Ow, Izzy, this hurts!" Isabelle made cooing noises as Clary opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. She reached over to Izzy with a clenched fish, who knocked hers against it.

"Boo-ya!" they said in unison, laughing at their old catchphrase. Alec glared at them, plucking the mousetrap from his finger and dropping it into the trashcan. Izzy snatched Clary's water and took a long gulp. Passing the water back to Clary's pale hand, she sauntered over to Alec, two inches taller than him in her stilettos. Her black hair was flowing around her face, perfectly messy, and her eyes were lined in black, creating the most intimidating look Clary had ever seen.

"2012 Prank War Scores: Izzy and Clary-one, Alec-," she made a circle with her fingers, "zero." She turned on her heel and grabbed Clary by the arm, pulling her into the corridor. The two girls broke into giggles as they walked down the hall, lit decoratively with silvery sconces. Izzy jerked down a hallway and used her stiletto to kick open a door halfway down. "This," she said, doing a sweeping gesture with her arms, "is you're room."

Clary nodded as Isabelle excused herself. Shutting the door behind her, Clary walked the perimeter of the room, noting the plane walls and dark wood of the furniture. A big queen bed took up the center of the room, no bed sheets or blankets put on yet. The dressers were bare, as was the vanity, but to Clary's delight, nothing seemed to be from the eighteenth century. She sat down on her bed and felt her pocket vibrate. She slipped out her cell phone. Checking the caller I.D., she picked up. "Hey, Simon…" she said, a small gasp escaping her lips.

"…Maia..." Simon's voice moaned from the earpiece. She heard some suggestive sounds, and her face turned red.

"Hey, Si!" she yelled into the microphone, hearing the other end go silent. "Yeah, maybe you should turn your phone off _before_ cheating, so you don't accidentally butt dial your girlfriend."

"Clary…I was just…uh…"

"Performing CPR on a choking girl named Maia?" she offered. "Just in case my angry tone isn't enough of a clue, we are done Simon Lewis!" Snapping the phone shut and chucking it onto the ground, she grabbed the uncovered pillow from her bed and released a scream into its softness. Then, she dropped her face into her hands. She knew he'd been cheating on her! She'd known it ever since he'd become so clingy, so protective. Yet, she couldn't find it in herself to be sad. She'd wanted a way out of the relationship, but she really couldn't bring herself to break up with him. Her phone buzzed against the wooden flooring, but she ignored it, knowing it was Simon.

Lying back on her mattress, she counted the moments until her mother would arrive and make everything better.

She didn't even notice she'd fallen asleep until she'd woken up the next morning, boxes surrounding her room, bed fully made beneath her. _How did I not wake up through this?_ She thought, running her hands over the soft purple of the quilt. She checked her phone, seeing it was nine o'clock in the morning. She stretched her stiff body, wondering if her parents had left. She got her answer, seeing the note tacked up against the door. It was from her parents, telling her that they loved her and would visit her soon. She sighed, checking her reflection in the mirror. Besides her hair behind slightly frizzy, she looked presentable.

She walked out into the hallway, rubbing sleep from her eyes, ready to go eat some breakfast. She was brought up short at the sight of a figure standing at the end of the hallway, swaying to some unheard music. "Hello?" She called down the hallway. The figure separated into two as she found a light switch, illuminating the dim hallway.

Realizing she'd walked in on two people kissing, Clary stood awkwardly in the hallway, wondering what she should do. The pair looked up, but Clary couldn't see past an exceptionally large head of the girl. Her hair was bleach-blond and her eyes were beady, but bright, ocean blue.

"A ginger?" The girl's voice screeched, piercing the uneasy silence that had settled over the hallway. Clary saw the boy shift awkwardly behind the girl as Clary faltered. She shook her head. She wasn't going to take this crap, not after what happened with Simon yesterday. She was angry, and the girl had picked the wrong red-head to mess with.

Narrowing her eyes and placing a wicked grin on her face, Clary clapped her hands lightly. "Congratulations, you know your colors! Tomorrow, we'll work on numbers." The girl's lips twitched as she groped for a comeback. Clary smiled sweetly at the girl.

"Jace," she said, straightening the boy's Air Jordan t-shirt. Clary still couldn't see his face behind her giant poof of blond hair. "You better stay away from her. You know what they say about gingers…" She leaned in close to the boy as her sentence trailed off, lifting her hand to her mouth in a mock-whisper. "They have no souls."

Clary placed a hand on her hip, staring the girl down. "Is that so?" The blond nodded triumphantly. "So then I won't feel bad when I kill you later?" The girl's jaw dropped, and Clary heard the boy's low chuckle from behind her.

"Dang, Kaelie, you just got served." Kaelie looked Jace up and down, taking her skinny arms off her hips and weakly attempting to shove him away. Jace didn't so much as stumble, his eyes full of laughter, watching the girl's week struggles.

"You know what, Jace, we are done! Don't ever call me again!" Clary sputtered a laugh, realizing that the term "dumb blond" really did apply to some people.

"Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya." Clary waved at the girl as she left, laughing, remembering that they were beneath a church somehow made it funnier to her. "That's what I would call speed breakup." Jace snorted, and Clary finally saw him, now that Kaelie wasn't obstructing her view. He had strong, chiseled features, his nose straight and aristocratic, and he was slightly tan from the summer sun. His hair was a mop of gold atop his head, and his eyes were made to match, molten pools of golden lava set into the statue-like face.

"I've been trying to breakup with her for four months, and you do it in two minutes." His voice was musical, magical as it caressed her eardrums, making Clary want to hang onto every word and never let go. She shook her head a little to clear it. Regaining her composure, she quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

"From the looks of it down there, you weren't trying too hard." Jace smiled sheepishly, running a big hand through his golden locks. Clary shrugged, turning around, ready to wander through the labyrinth of hallways and passages that she would now call home. She heard the soft click of a door behind her, and she guessed that Jace had probably went to chase after Kaelie.

She began to walk slowly, simply placing one foot in front of the other in small, rhythmic steps, observing her surroundings carefully, trying to commit each sight to memory. She had traveled down two separate hallways when she pulled up short. She heard Isabelle's giggling from inside of a room. Clary gazed down at the expanse of the hall, seeing that there were four, gray doors. She wanted to find Izzy and ask who Jace was.

Listening carefully, she pushed through the door on the end. "Hey, Iz," she whispered to a girl, lying on the bed, mouth wide open, eyes covered with an eye mask.

"Huh, what?" she asked, dragging an arm over her wet mouth. Somehow, even after sleeping a whole night, the girl still looked runway ready.

"Who's Jace?" she asked, settling herself at the foot of Izzy's bed. Izzy shrugged, removing her eye mask and putting it on the top of her head. Her room was blue. The walls were ocean blue, the floor the color of sand. Her furniture seemed to be made of driftwood and seashells clinked from where they hung down from the ceiling. She pulled the blue covers up around her midsection, sitting up and leaning toward her red-haired best friend.

"That," she said, pausing for dramatic effect, "is our other roommate."

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><p><em>So...Cheating Simon, Dumb Kaelie, Fierce Clary? What did you think. Hmm..we reach ten reviews and Jace and Clary will have some lip action! ;) P.S. we will meet Luke and Jocelyn in the next chapter...just didn't feel like writing about them...I tried, but it kind of just was boring and threw everything off...sooooo review?<em>


	3. Parties and Players

_I'd like to say my inspiration for this chapter was **Little Bad Girl** by David Guetta, Taio Cruz, and Ludacris. Enjoy :)_

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><p>It was already the last day of summer. <em>The last day of summer<em>, Clary thought, trying to remember anything fun that she'd done in the days full of sunshine. There was

nothing really memorable that happened until she'd arrived at St. Xavier's, until she'd broken up with Simon, and until she'd reconnected with Alec and Izzy. She looked at

the sketchpad that was propped open in her hands, waiting for inspiration to strike. She was laying on her stomach the most comfortable bed she ever seen, her small

ankles crossed in the air and her hair pulled up into a messy bun. Her pencil was positioned between her teeth, where she gnawed on the eraser as she pondered the

options of sketches.

"I could draw my dresser," she mumbled, looking at the dark brown chest of drawers sitting across the room. She picked her pencil out of her mouth and began twirling it

between her index finger and thumb. Her inspiration had turned into a dry well. Nothing she thought of was appealing enough to depict, artful enough to waste her time on,

emotional enough to captivate attention. She shoved her sketchpad off the edge of her bed in aggravation.

The door flew open, and Clary squeaked, her pencil following the book of drawings to the floor. Izzy stood in the open doorway, the bright lights from the hallway

illuminating her, making her look like some sort of dark angel, with her sleek, black hair falling down around her shoulders and her dark, smoldering eyes focused solely on

Clary. "Stay there, Izzy," Clary ordered, fishing her drawing supplies from where they'd landed on the furry rug she'd bought the day after she'd arrived. She'd personalized

her room a little bit, buying two throw pillows, one in sparkly orange and the other tie-dye, and throwing them messily on her bed. She had picture of her mother, herself,

and Luke standing on the nightstand and dresser in colorful frames, all of them smiling wholeheartedly at the camera.

A lamp illuminated the room, the shade made of hanging circles that dangled and wiggled, casting the room in playful, dancing shadows. The dresser and closet were

stocked full with her extensive wardrobe, mostly clothes splattered with paint or band tees that Simon had given here. _Simon…sigh_. "No," Izzy's voice broke her out of her

musings. Clary flinched, once again startled by the fierce black-haired girl standing defiantly in front of here. "I am not staying _here_," she said, gesturing around at the

whole Institute, her hands thrashing wildly as a smile tugged at her lips.

Clary got up and pinned the girl's spasming arms to her sides, eyeing her curiously. The girl flashed a grin and held up four slips of paper, tickets, to an exclusive club

named Pandemonium. "I am going dancing!" She was shouting, swaying her hips back and forth to an unheard rhythm. "And you," she said, stopping momentarily to point

a freshly French-manicured fingernail in her direction, "are coming with me."

Clary instantly went into defense mode, something that happened every single time she was asked to try something out of her box. "No, Izzy, I don't think I can go. I've

got all this unpacking to do and—" Izzy clamped a sweet-smelling hand over the red-head's mouth.

"Don't go all, 'I've got this to do and that to do,' on me. Clarissa Fairchild, I believe I know you better than anybody else, and if you think less, that is an insult." Clary stuck

her tongue out, watching Izzy recoil her hand when she felt the wetness connect to her palm. She swiped it against her skin-tight jeans, but continued her speech. "When's

the last time you had fun? Let loose?"

Clary's mouth opened for some snarky reply, but the question actually drew her up short. When had she done something fun? She twisted her finger around a red curl that

had escaped her bun. When she resurfaced from the deep thoughts in her mind, she didn't have an answer, and Izzy's triumphant grin told her that Izzy had already known

that. Clary rolled her eyes and lightly shoved the girl away, watching as she balanced herself gracefully on her six-inch, black stilettos. "Be ready by eight," she said,

turning on her heel and leaving the room as if she were strutting away from the paparazzi, trying to give them the best shot possible.

Clary sighed and fell backwards onto her bed. The clock told her it was six o'clock, but she really didn't want to get ready. She rolled over onto her side, and the last

comprehensible thought she had was wondering who the other two tickets were for.

She woke up to someone slapping her cheeks, complaining about how she wasn't ready, how she hadn't even changed out of her sweatpants and tank-top yet. "Izzy," Clary

groaned, swatting away the hands. "Go away." She pulled a pillow over her head and kicked at the air around her, hoping to connect with something that belonged to her

awakener.

"Not until you let me make you over!" she complained. Clary heard a click as something connected with the hardwood. She rolled over, propping herself up on her elbows

and staring at Izzy in disbelief.

"Did you _literally_ just stamp your foot?" Isabelle rolled her eyes and grabbed Clary by the arms, towing her off the bed and into the adjoining bathroom. She shoved Clary

down on the side of the white Jacuzzi tub that had offered Clary a piece of serenity when she'd come here. Now, it sort of felt like a whipping post. Izzy stood up in the tub,

wrenching on Clary's hair, trying to tug a brush through the orange, cork-screw curls, which expectedly were protesting.

"Ugh!" she finally gave up, dropping the brush into the tub with a loud clatter. Clary twisted her head to look and saw that Izzy was crouched down, her hands in her hair in

frustration. A few seconds later, her head popped up, her eyes aglow with a new idea. Clary suppressed the groan that was building inside of her. She felt Izzy twisting and

tangling her hair, yanking and tugging at the strands, making Clary feel like she was a poor tabby cat that kept having its tail pulled by an innocent child. Finally, after

twenty minutes of torture, Izzy's hands retreated from Clary's hair and to her hips. She flashed Clary a smile and motioned for her to look in the mirror.

Izzy had woven her curly hair into a messy, yet sexy, side-braid that fell across her shoulder in a lazy, girly way. Her curls sprung out the sides, just adding to the beauty of

the hairstyle. Before she could thank Izzy, she'd been pushed onto the closed lid of the toilet, her eyes closed as Izzy swept makeup across her cheeks, eyelids, and lips.

She followed the orders of looking up and down as Izzy applied black eyeliner, smudging it with her fingertip. With two coats of lengthening, black mascara, Izzy claimed

that she was done.

Clary tried to stand, but Izzy's hands on her shoulders kept here frozen to the toilet. "Wait," she said, looking out the door as if she just remembered something. "Stay

here."

Clary looked down and mumbled, "I'm not staying _here_…" she quoted, but when she looked up, the black-haired girl had already disappeared. She clamped her hands

together, seeing Izzy had painted her nails a fiery red while she'd been sitting on the cushy cover of the toilet seat. She delicately ran her fingernail across her lower lip,

testing that it was dry. It was. She laced her fingers behind her head and leaned backward, hearing Izzy's shoes before she saw here.

Isabelle breezed into the room, something sparkling in her grasp. It was a sequined, black dress. Dripping from her fingertips was a pair of golden, strappy stilettos. Clary's

mouth opened in awe, but before she could say anything, Izzy beat her to the punch. "I know," she said, setting the things on the counter of the sink and retreating from

the room, calling a quick, "Get dressed," over her shoulder. Clary stood, staring at the exquisite clothes. She didn't think she'd ever worn anything so beautiful in her life.

She fingered the soft, silken inside of the dress, peeling off her paint-splattered lounging clothes and stepping into the dress, sliding the zipper smoothly up the side. She

then buckled herself into the high heels.

She sucked in a deep breath, unsure of what she would think of herself when she looked in the mirror. She sat on the side of the tub, dropping her face into her hands,

trying to hide behind her perfectly manicured nails. Izzy worked fast.

Clary's body convulsed with the sad memories that flooded back to her. Memories that she'd thought she'd left in high school, memories that she'd shoved down so far that

she thought would never resurface. She balanced her elbows on her knees, trying not to let the high-pitched voice in her mind cause her fear, terrorize her into not going

out like it had so many times before.

Behind her eyelids, Clary saw Aline, with her thick dark hair, cut shoulder length with square bands running across her forehead, accentuating the brown irises set into

almond-shaped eyes. Her bright red lips were pulled up into a cruel smile as she took a step toward Clary, dressed in a floor length gown. It was tight-fitting and pale pink,

further deepening the caramel skin of her thin limbs. Clary watched her approach, aware of the stares the boys were giving the girl dressed in the pink dress with the

neckline that plunged almost to her belly button. A sparkling crown sat atop Aline's head, catching the light from the disco ball and dispersing it playfully around the room.

Everything about her drew attention, but nothing more than what she did next.

Aline's thin fingers reached out and shoved Clary into the punch bowl, sneering at the look of shock that crossed the redhead's face. "You think a fancy dress can make you

pretty?" she snarled, her face millimeters from Clary's. "You think _anything_ can make you pretty?" Clary pulled herself from the punch bowl, only to have Aline send her

back in for another round. "You listen," she said, pressing her hand against Clary's shoulder to make sure she couldn't get up, "and you listen good." Her eyes were full of

hatred, her voice disgusted. "You will always be nobody. You'll always be the ugly, sensitive art student that got dunked in the punch bowl on her Senior Prom, the girl that

wandered the hallways of high school alone, the girl that nobody will remember." Her glossed lips twisted into a sick grin. "Don't go after Sebastian again." Her breath

fanned into Clary's ear, snaking around her face and slithering into her nose. It reeked of alcohol. "He's mine." With that, Aline left, leaving Clary to mop up the mess made

of the lacy white dress she was wearing. The lacy white dress that just so happened to be her mother's wedding gown.

Clary bolted upward, not going to give into Aline again, like she had that night. She stood in front of the floor length mirror that covered her closet door, her pink lips

parting in shock. Izzy had made her beautiful.

The dress barely brushed the middle of her thighs, definitely shorter than anything she'd ever worn before. It captured the light from her lamp and sparkled as she angled

herself different ways to see every side. Her eyes were captivating, rimmed thickly in a smoky black, making the vibrant green pop. Her braid was perfect, giving her just

the perfect amount of innocent and hot in one hairstyle. Izzy had dusted her eyelids in a slight gold color that mingled with the gold of the high heels. She took a tentative

step forward, surprised to find that she was actually somewhat balanced on the heels.

She watched in the mirror as a girl approached her. "Forgot something," Izzy said, sliding sparkly pins strategically into parts of her braid. Clary opened her mouth to say

thank you, but no words would come out. She was speechless.

Izzy was dressed in a tight, floor-length blue gown that sparkled like sunshine on the surface of the ocean. Her hair was curled in flirty waves, pinned back so you were able

to see the glittering gems dripping from her earlobes. She wore no makeup except for black mascara, which perfectly rimmed her dark eyes. She had her lips painted in a

soft pink, and they were smiling genuinely at Clary. "You're gorgeous," Clary sputtered, smiling at her BFF.

"_We're _gorgeous," Izzy replied, snaking her arm around Clary's shoulders and holding a camera above them to take a picture. The flash momentarily blinded Clary, but that

didn't matter, since Izzy was towing her out of the room.

She dragged Clary all the way up the elevator and outside to a limo, which waited on the curb, as sleek and black as the night. New York had come alive with lights, each

building lit up to its full dynamic, replacing the night time sky with stars of their own. The two girls slid in opposite of each other, and Clary was surprised to see Alec and

Jace in the car already.

"God, Izzy, do you always have to be late?" Jace had his eyes closed, his head leaning back against the seat.

"I have nothing to apologize for." Izzy's nose was turned in the air as she answered to his arrogant tone.

"You should be sorry you wasted five minutes of such a gorgeous person's life." Izzy snorted, effectively ending the conversation. Clary noted the small frown playing on

Jace's lips, but if she hadn't been watching, it would look just like any other look of indifference. She shrugged it off, excited to be going to an exclusive club.

When the limo pulled up to the curb outside of the club, the group of four was ushered under a covered walkway toward golden, glass doors. A bouncer took their tickets

and waved them inside, attending to the next group of people. Once inside the club, Clary's eyes widened in delight.

A thick crowd of people gathered on a floor of colorful squares that changed colors in time with the music. Disco balls and strobe lights illuminated the area where people

danced and gyrated to the music, laughing and talking. The constant hum of chatter was overpowered by the music, which had a bouncing beat. The walls were painted

black and the regular floor tiled in black marble. Clary wondered why nobody slipped.

She watched Izzy melt into the crowd of people, and Jace wonder off toward the long, colorful bar at the other end of the club. Alec spotted one of his friends and excused

himself to go say hi. Clary rubbed her arms, the room becoming unexpectedly chilly. "Don't be a coward," she whispered to herself as she carefully approached the throng

of dancers.

As she wove her way to the center, her confidence grew, and soon, she was swinging her hips in time with the music, her hands above her head and her feelings as

carefree as a bird. She felt as if she was soaring. Izzy came up to her and handed her a pink, frothy drink. "I don't know, Izzy," Clary said warily as the people spun around

her, keeping in time with the song.

"Don't be a sissy," she taunted, taking a large sip from her own drink, the umbrella falling onto the floor. Izzy pressed it closer to Clary's mouth, forcing her to take a drink.

An _mm _hummed off her lips, making Izzy smirk in an I-told-you-so way. Clary downed the whole drink, asking for another when a waitress bounced past her. She held her

drink above her head and swayed with the music, not bothering when the liquid splashed against the dance floor.

The room was spinning around her, blurring and blending together like a watercolor painting, but she didn't care, she liked it. She was on her sixth drink when she felt

hands pull her hips against something. She looked down, seeing that the hands belonged to a boy by the way they were heavily inked with thick black lines. She looked up

slightly, seeing that the tattoo ran up past his elbow, an intricate swirl of knots and bars, intertwining and intermingling in a messily artistic way. She smiled, rocking her

hips back and forth and bringing her drink to her lips for another sip. She grinded against the boy, listening to the music and laughing as she tripped over random people

that were dancing by, thanking the boy as he caught her. She'd been dancing against him for three songs when she realized she hadn't even turned around to see who it

was or what he looked like.

The song shifted to the first slow-paced song of the night, and the boy clasped his hand around hers, spinning her around and pressing her against his chest. She yelped as

she looked up, her green gaze connecting with one of gold. She pulled herself out of his grasp as Jace stared at her quizzically. "You're a womanizer," she said, waggling a

finger at him. "You're a Casablanca!"

Jace chuckled. "I think you mean Casanova." Clary's mind was jumbled with alcohol.

"Whatever! Just don't touch me! I might get a sickly disease from that other girl your hands were all over!"

"You touched me first, little bad girl." Jace had a smirk plastered on his face, knowing he'd struck a nerve at the short reference.

Clary knew her words were slurred, but she didn't care. "I'm way too bad for you," she replied coldly. Turning on her golden high heel, she sashayed away from him,

throwing a hateful glare over her shoulder.

He smirked again, calling over to him, "You can't stay away forever, Testarossa." Clary huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. He was arrogant and obviously had

no boundaries, since she'd seen him with Kaelie but still had his hands all over her. She looked backward at him and saw him lip-locked with a bleach-blond, her cleavage

popping out from the low neckline of her shirt. Clary wanted to hit herself for not checking to see who she was grinding on.

Jace was bad news. He was a bad boy. He was the kind of boy to love you and leave you, to not call after he'd gotten what he'd wanted. Living with him for a week, she

already knew he was a guy of broken promises by the way Izzy had talked about how many lovers she'd seen him with. Her mind filled with the hazy memory that seemed

so long ago, yet only happened last week.

Clary had woken Izzy up, wondering who Jace was. After Izzy told her that Jace was their roommate, she'd proceeded to warn her about him. "I've known him for awhile

now, and even when he's 'with' someone," she put air quotes around the word _with_, "he's not really with them." She told him that she'd seen many different tramps

clamped to his side, sometimes more than one at once. Clary had physically gagged at that. "I know. So, no matter how…appealing he is, just stay away. He is one mess

you don't even want to try to clean up."

Clary was yanked from her memories as she realized she was fallen, haven slipped on the marble floor that she'd wondered about earlier. A searing pain raced up her leg,

radiating from her ankle. A small squeak escaped her lips as she waited for her elbows to connect with the ominous black flooring, yet, the connection never came.

She felt strong arms wrap around her, helping her to her feet as warm, minty breath floated over her ear. "Long time no see, Little Red." She felt the man place a chaste

kiss on her cheek and all coherent words left her mind, only a slight mumbling falling off her tongue.

After a moment of blinking in shock, she composed herself enough to breath one word, "Sebastian…"

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><p><em>Hmm...*sigh* no Clace yet...but we will get there...<em>

_btw **Testarossa **is a kind of Ferrari :D_


	4. Bombs and Kisses

_Alright...I updated yesterday...then realized...I HAD TEN REVIEWS! well...technically more...but I promised a kiss, so here I deliver. :D DRAMA ALERT!_

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><p>Clary smiled and leaned against the familiar embrace of her old friend, feeling his warm breath travel down the back of her dress, raising goose bumps on her arms. The music thumped an uneven beat as the lighting pulsed around the room, casting fun and colorful shadows over the walls and floor, illuminating the room in a spectacular dancing glow. "Little Red," he said, placing his chin atop her red hair, tugging lightly at the tip of the braid. "You've grown since the last time I saw you." Clary laughed lightly, shoving out of the tan circle of his arms and hopping up onto one of the vacant barstools, watching to her dismay as her toes dangled helplessly off the edge, nowhere near brushing the floor. She placed her empty cup up on the counter, wanting another drink since she'd spilled the last one all over the floor.<p>

"Two inches," she confirmed, gesturing to the bartender that she wanted another drink. Another bonus to the private club was that they didn't card, allowing eighteen-year-old Clary to get as tipsy as she desired. The pink drinks were making her as giddy as a school-girl, but she wasn't complaining about the feeling. Her mind was soaring. She felt alive and vibrant, as if she were glowing, radiating light everywhere like the iridescent disco ball spinning over the center of the mob of throbbing bodies. She leaned her elbows back against the smooth, dark countertop, stretching her back, sore from dancing. Sebastian was eyeing her curiously, as if he couldn't believe it was really her sitting at the bar of a club.

"Are you sure you are Clary Fairchild? Because seriously, I didn't think I'd see her clubbing." Clary kicked him gently with the heel of her shoe, waving him off and clasping the foamy drink pressed into her palm. She swirled the contents with the small straw, watching the pink cyclone in the center.

"Are you sure you are Sebastian Verlac? Because seriously, I didn't think I'd see him breaking the rules." Sebastian grinned, pressing the opened bottle of beer to his lips and gulping the liquid in big swigs, slamming it against the countertop next to Clary's elbow when he was finished, beckoning to the man in the tux passing out drinks.

"Another round, my good man." The man nodded in Seb's direction and disappeared into the bouncing crowd, only his tray of drinks visible, like a surfboard riding the waves of swaying hands. Sebastian's dark brown eyes drank her in, from her golden high heels to her sparkly pins inset in her braided hair. "You look good, Fray," he said, using one of his other old nicknames for her. He'd given it to her after attending her first volleyball game, realizing how competitive she was and how she'd never let anyone beat her on the court, ever. "You're the definition of a hopeless fray, a fight that nobody else can win," he'd said after he'd given her a congratulatory hug for winning the state championship. Hopeless Fray soon became too much of a mouthful for him, so he shortened it to Fray.

She encircled her straw with her lips, taking a lazy sip of her drink and letting her eyes roll over his body. She studied his muscular, tan arms, his fitted gray v-neck that showed of every curve of his toned abdomen. She ogled his dark-washed jeans, tight in all the right places. A slow smile spread across her lips as she released her straw with a pop. "Not so bad yourself, Verlac." He snorted quietly at the comment, plopping down on the empty seat next to her and accepting the glass bottle extended to him from the man in the tuxedo.

"Thanks, dude," he said, unrolling a couple of bills and pressing them into the man's hand. "So, Little Red, what's new?" Clary shrugged, dropping her gaze to her drink. This was Seb, her confident, her friend, her adopted brother. Jocelyn and Luke had adopted Sebastian when he and Clary were both about eleven, and they had the strongest bond siblings could have. She could tell him anything. Yet she found herself avoiding the fact that she and Simon had broken up. Maybe she didn't want him to see that she was lonely, or maybe she didn't want him to feel pity for her because he probably had a million girls vying for him, and she was still just his sister Clary.

"Nothing," her lips formed the word, sending it out in a quiet whisper. Clary cleared her throat. "Nothing," she repeated more firmly. "I'm all moved in and ready. Can't wait for school to start tomorrow, bright and early." She took another sip of her drink, only to have Sebastian pull it from her grasp. She made a whimper of protest, reaching for her delicious delicacy.

"Ah, ah, ah…You don't drink, Little Red, and I don't want you starting you're first day of college with a raging hangover." Clary scowled, crossing her arms over her chest, but knowing that Sebastian was right, like always.

"Whatever. What's new in the land of Sebastian Verlac?" she asked, flipping wisps of curls that had fallen from her braid and into her eyes. Usually there was nothing new. Sebastian had been the cookie-cutter high school jock, starting quarterback of the varsity football team, teen heartthrob, and sensitive brother, ready to beat up anyone who so much as looked at Clary wrong. Now, Seb's eyes were downcast in embarrassment, his mouth twitching as if he didn't know what to say. Clary rested a small hand on his shoulder. "Seb, whatever it is, you can tell me." Sebastian looked up, innocence and fear evident in his eyes. Clary immediately knew that this wasn't going to be good.

He let out a shaky breath, the longer strands of brown hair blowing in the gust. "I'm engaged," he articulated slowly, looking up and gauging her reaction. Clary schooled her facial features so that they wouldn't show the shock that had sparked inside of her.

"Congratulations," she choked out, puzzled that one of her big brother hadn't told her such a thing right when it happened. Sebastian shook his head, the look on his face showing one thing. Regret.

"No, it's not good." He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and then dropped his face into his hands. "Not good at all." There was silence between them for a moment until Sebastian downed the remaining beer in his bottle. "I got the girl pregnant." The words were so matter-of-fact that Clary's hand fluttered to her chest. Sebastian, Christian, pro-abstinence, Sebastian, got a girl pregnant. He thrust a hand into his brown locks in aggravation.

"Sebastian, are you, are you sure?" His eyes met Clary's, and he shook his head, suddenly preoccupied with his intertwined fingers. "Why did you ask her to marry you, then?" Clary was once against confused, knowing Seb wasn't the type to rush into things.

"She," Sebastian started, covering his eyes with his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose. "She threatened to tell the colleges that had recruited me. She threatened to tell them that I raped her, that I forced her into…into…" He trailed off, balancing his elbows on his knees and resting his forehead against his palms.

"Hey," Clary said, softening her voice for her brother's benefit, knowing he didn't want a lie, "You'll figure this out. Just have them do a paternity test when the baby comes out—"

"And what if it _is_ mine?" he shouted. Clary shrank back from the power of his voice. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be unloading this on you. After all, I haven't seen you in three months." He didn't mention that they had barely talked in nearly five, since the night of the prom when Aline had attacked her, when the oriental girl had claimed Sebastian as her own, forcing Clary to sever the tight-knit relationship they'd once kept. A hand appeared on Seb's shoulder, and Clary's gaze traveled up the arm, seeing a girl tucking herself into Sebastian's side.

"Clary," Sebastian said, plastering a fake smile to his face. "Here's the future Mrs. Sebastian Verlac." The girl giggled, and Clary felt like she was going to vomit. She felt like the world was pulling the worst prank ever. She waited silently for Alec to pop out and shout _Surprise_, giggling with Isabelle. Of course, that didn't happen. Clary blinked at the girl, taking in the dark, straight hair that just brushed the tops of her shoulders, the straight, even nose that separated two, almond-shaped eyes set deeply into the girls caramel skin.

"Aline," Clary whispered, taking in the girl's tight pink dress that conformed to the protruding bump between her hips. "Excuse me," Clary said, holding a hand to her stomach as she rushed away from the brother that she loved so much, from his fiancée that she wished were dead. She pushed through to the girl's bathroom and fell to her knees in the first stall, gagging up the contents of her drink. She didn't know if it was the alcohol finally taking effect in her system or the bomb that just had exploded on her life.

"Clary," a small voice came from the doorway. Clary clutched the white porcelain as her stomach churned again.

"Go away, Izzy."

"But—"

"GO!" Clary yelled with more fiery than she'd ever used to talk to her best friend. Izzy squeaked, but Clary heard the clicking of her heels as she retreated from the room, leaving Clary alone to pick up the pieces of her quickly crumbling life. She dragged herself up from the floor and went to the sink to rinse her mouth out with water. Her entire body shook with the realization that she and Aline would be spending a lot of time together, that they'd even be related. She shuddered, wondering how a sleazy snob could deserve her big brother's last name.

She stomped back out into the club, determined to hail a taxi home, fall into bed, and not get up until the morning. She found Izzy hanging around the edge of the bar, sitting on some guy's lap as she lifted a cup to her lips. She wanted to go apologize for being such a drama queen and flipping out on her.

She'd just put one golden high heel in front of the other when Izzy's head shifted, ever so slightly, lifting the black veil that covered the man's face, the one who her best friend was perched on. Clary blinked her eyes, making sure it wasn't just the cocktail that was making her hallucinate. Underneath Izzy was a dark-headed boy, a smirk plastered onto his face, which surprisingly wasn't obscured by his signature nerd glasses. Clary whipped around in the other direction, tears streaming down her face as she wove her way to the exit, trying to delete the image of Simon gazing at Izzy in pride. She grabbed two beers off a tray as the man in the tuxedo walked by. Pressing the rim to her lips, she downed both of them and tossed them into a trash can on her way out.

She was too far gone to notice that golden angel following her, his face morphed in a look of concern no girl had ever made him have before. She waved her hand in the air, raising two fingers to her lips and letting out a sharp whistle, a taxi pulling over before the sound had even finished. "Thanks, Testarossa," Jace said as he slid into the cab, all the way across to the other door. Clary rolled her eyes, just about to slam the door on the boy's face when he grabbed her wrist. "We're going to the same place," he said, pausing. "And I know you want to tell all your friends you got to ride with an awesome piece of man-candy like this." He gestured to himself. Clary rolled her eyes, unable to hide a smile that played on her salty lips. "There it is," he murmured, tugging her gently down onto the seat and gesturing to her mouth.

"Why are you being nice to me?" she asked, buckling her seatbelt. Jace snorted, pulling on his own buckle. "I was being serious."

"Well, despite the conventional man-whore you stereotyped me as, I actually am quite chivalrous." He smoothed his twisted blond curls, looking up at Clary through thick, golden lashes.

"You were just hoping I was drunken enough that you could get lucky tonight," she guessed, turning her face away from the seductive look.

"That too." Clary sighed, placing her finger to her temples. Her head had just begun to hurt. Checking her phone, she saw that it was one o'clock in the morning. She groaned inwardly, leaning her head back against the seat. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before the car lurched over a pothole, sending her flying forward, only to be caught by the restraint across her chest. She moaned in pain, blinking her eyes as she tried to clear her vision.

Everything was now doubled: the driver, her hand in front of her face, the lights on the side of the street, and the boy sitting next to her. What was his name again? She couldn't remember. All she was aware of was the agonizing pain in her chest, yet she couldn't remember what it had come from. Oh, the seatbelt, she recalled, rubbing the spot just above her heart. Her head turned toward the boy next to her, catching his intense stare. She didn't understand what the look was for. Her thoughts were jumbled, one sentence merging into another, until the words were so smashed together they become one. Her hair was tight, and she didn't like it.

Her artistic fingers swiftly removed sparkling pins and flicked them to the floor. The red hair fell out of its braid as she released the band, the curls instantly springing back to full volume. Clary shook her head, letting the curls fall around her face, grateful for the comforting feeling it gave her. She vaguely heard a rumbling chuckle sounding beside her. She closed her eyes, focusing as much as she could on the amazing sound the laugh was. It was beckoning her, the sound welcoming, thick like honey, warm like sunshine.

Releasing her belt, she swung her legs up behind her, twisting her body across the seat so that her chest was flush with his. The boy's amber eyes were blazing, wide with shock and anticipation. She twisted her fingers into the boy's t-shirt, smiling sweetly at the pleasured and expectant sound that escaped his lips. A thought pushed two words to the forefront of her mind, forcing them out of her mouth. She didn't know what the words meant, but she found herself murmuring, "Screw Simon," right before she pressed her lips to his.

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><p><em>Ahhh! I want to read more...but I'm writing the story...so yeah...haha...so we reach twenty reviews and Jace will say some sweet things to Clary in the morning ;) <em>

_And Bambi Magenta Ann: Thanks for your awesome reviews and suggestions, I never intend for Sebastian to be a bad guy...I like him! haha I hope I satisfied your wishes (:_


	5. Forgotten Memories?

_I admit, this update is well overdue, but hey, it's here *exhale* Please exuse my mistakes...I do not beta, and I typed really fast, so...sorry haha, anyway..Enjoy :)_

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><p>The air in the back of the taxicab was hot and damp, causing Clary's dress to cling to her slick skin, hanging uncomfortably around her body and peeling away from her with<p>

every motion. Her red curls brushed against her back and fell around her face as she dug her nails into the boy's forearms when he removed his lips from hers. She wanted,

no needed, the pressure of his lips against hers, the heat of his body encompassing her own. The absence of these sensations tore a hole in her chest. "Hang on," the boy

told her, kicking the door open with the heel of his shoe. His name was Jace, or so he told her as he hummed delectably against her lips. She bit her lower one as Jace

reached in and offered her his hand.

She obliged, allowing Jace's big, firm hand wrap completely around her small, artistic one. She felt light as a feather, as if she were flying high above the clouds. The

world was a set of twins, two trees towering over her, two pathways leading to two Institutes, two entry doors to choose from. The only thing that kept her balanced as

she wound her way through the thick, green shrubbery was Jace's voice, cooing her name over and over, asking her to follow him, begging her not to fall and hurt

herself.

She wanted to hear him beg. Hear him moan her name between panting breaths and damp sheets. Her heart sped up in her chest as they entered the Institute, the

chapel illuminated with the orange flames dancing on the ends of candlewicks, throwing light across the room, flashing golden against Jace's warm flesh. She allowed him

to drag her into the elevator and close the door, pushing a button that Clary didn't pay attention to. She welcomed the feeling of his fingertips digging into the flesh above

her hips, hummed his name as he bent down to lightly press his lips to hers.

It wasn't good enough. It wasn't hot and passionate, like Clary felt she needed. It was low, controlled, and seemingly full of feeling. She stretched up on her tippy toes to

deepen their kiss, feeling his mouth open in response. She crushed her body to his with blinding force, eliciting a moan from deep within his chest. The throaty sound

hung in the air between them as the stood for a moment, as close as they could possibly get, but needing to be closer. The elevator glided lower into the ground around

them, but Clary just stood there, staring into Jace's four golden eyes.

A squeak dropped from between her lips as he lifted her up, making her mouth level with his. Their breath mingled, hot and heavy, as she wrapped her legs around his

waist, her dress sliding upward before finally hitching up against her lips. She squeezed her thighs and dropped her head backward happily. Jace took the opportunity to

plant kisses on the creamy skin that covered her throat, digging his fingertips into the flesh of her thighs.

The pressure was not enough to satisfy a Clary this drunk, so she wriggled even closer to him, grinning in triumph as he finally backed her against the wall of the

elevator. He braced his inked arms on either side of her, the swirling, swooping lines distracting her momentarily. They curled like tendrils around his wrists, thin and dark

as the swooped upward, twisting around his elbow in thicker, more severe lines that morphed into knots and tangles. It was hypnotizing, with seemingly no beginning, no

ending to the intricate detailing of the tattoo. Clary tentatively ran her traced her finger up and down the maze. She followed the lines as best as she could in her drunken

stupor.

"It's beautiful," she heard herself murmuring, the words slicing through the silence of the moment. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, the lines seeming to follow

where her fingers were placed, like her handprint was woven into the tattoo. She looked up, her eyes meeting the blazing amber of Jace's. She released a shaky breath as

he brought his arm up to her face, brushing a rogue curl behind her ear.

That put her over, and she knitted her fingers into his silky curls, dragging his open mouth onto hers with heavy force, drinking in the taste of his tongue as he held her

carefully against the wall, kneading the exposed skin just above her hips. She fisted her palms into his shirt, suddenly thinking of the fabric as suffocating, a boundary

between the two of them that needed to be removed immediately.

Jace allowed her to tug his shirt up, lifting his arms and splitting the kiss so she could take it off and drop it to the floor, where it pooled in soft waves around his feet.

Clary was aware that during that time, it was just the pressure of his body against hers holding her in position. She ogled his bare chest, seeing the tattoo covering the

expanse of it. It was another serious of snaking lines that tied and tangled together at random points. To Clary, it seemed as if the tattoo was holding him together, as if

the intricate lines were the stitches of the seams that held all his pieces together. She suddenly wondered if he'd been broken when he'd gotten it. And if it hurt.

His lips against hers again distracted her, and she allowed her hands to further explore what her eyes could not. She traced the hard planes of his chest, rubbing her

fingers gently up and down the defined lines of his abdominals, running her palms up his chest and coming to a rest against his shoulders, where she curled them into his

back as he sucked on her lower lip, tauntingly, teasingly.

Her fingers wound around his neck, yanking his face hard against hers in a rush of teeth clanking and nose bumping. Neither teenager seemed to mind until the door

banged open, and Izzy burst in, towing who Clary thought was a nerdy boy behind her. She couldn't tell though, since there were two hazy images staring back at her,

wide-eyed. His brown hair was disheveled, but not in a sexy way like the boy positioned before her. It was more of an _I don't care_ way. Clary just thought it looked

stupid.

She shivered as the heat from Jace's body disappeared, and she slid down the wall to the floor, her head lolling to the side. Her eyelids were heavy as she heard Izzy's

voice erupting from somewhere across the room. Clary couldn't get her eyes to find her dark-haired friend, so she just stared at the black splotches dotting her vision.

She strained her roaring ears to her what her friend was saying. "She's drunk, and of course, _you_ take advantage of that!" _Who's drunk?_ She thought, a smile forming on

her pink lips before the light around her extinguished completely, and her head fell against the floor.

x.o.x.o

Clary's alarm clock exploded in her ear, the high trills causing the dull ache in her skull to flare. She groaned, tugging the pillow back over her head and absently slapping

her dresser in search of the snooze button. It was hopeless, she decided, as her

hand connected with nothing but pencils and pens. She kicked her blankets off, squealing quietly as the cold air connected with her warm legs. Today was not going to be

fun. Her throat was dry and scratchy, her voice slightly hoarse. Not that she wanted to talk anyways. Even the slightest noise felt like a jackhammer against her forehead.

She stood up, feeling slightly off balance as the room spun around her. She blinked, forcing her eyes to focus on the mirror on her closet. She looked horrible. Her hair

stuck up in random places, the curls frizzy and lopsided from the braid. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in puffy, purple bags. Clary screamed, clamping her hands over

her mouth when she realized that everyone else was probably sleeping.

Her mind tried ferociously to remember last night's events. She knew something big had happened, but she couldn't remember what or who. It was like a thick curtain

had been dropped across everything following her dancing on the floor, accepting a pink drink from Isabelle as her small hips swayed back and forth to the beat of the

music. She remembered the colorful, pulsing lights piercing her eyes, and the thrumming of the crowd vibrating against her ears. Other than that, she was drawing a

blank.

Her blinds were slightly ajar, allowing the seven-in-the-morning sunshine to seep into her room, dotting the floor in warm, golden slashes. It was probably a nice day out,

but Clary wasn't planning on enjoying it. The sun burned her eyes, and she reached over to yank the shades shut, closing out the gold and replacing it with shadowed

gray. She snagged the hair band from around her wrist and secured her fiery curls in a sloppy bun, pleased with how effortlessly fashionable it actually looked. A few curls

spilled out around her face, framing her pale skin and wide, green eyes, which to her dismay, no matter how many times she blinked, were bloodshot. She ignored this

for now, busying herself by picking out her outfit.

Five minutes later, she had decided on a lacy tan top that flowed perfectly over her small frame. Her legs were covered by dark-washed skinny jeans, and she'd strapped

a pair of red heels onto her feet. Checking herself in the mirror, she decided it was good, and grabbed her art smock, dropping it into her oversized bag that hung from

the handle of her door. As she reached for the sparkling strap of the blue bag, the door was flung open, nearly clipping her in the nose as she yelped and jumped back.

"Morning, sunshine," Izzy chirped from the opening. Her hair was sleek and long, highlighted with electric blue stripes, which she must have added that morning. She had

on a short, silver dress and blue heels that matched her hair. She looked like something straight out of Seventeen, with deep, smoky eyes and painted lips. She had a

small bottle in her hand, smiling at Clary. "Figured you'd need these." She extended the bottle toward Clary, who grabbed it curiously. It was a bottle of eye drops. Clary

squeezed them in, and blinked, happy by the relieving effect they had. Izzy smiled, turning on her heel to go. "You look cute, by the way." Clary laughed quietly as her

supermodel-like friend strutted down the hall.

Clary soon followed, after checking to make sure her eyes were normal and applying some lip balm. She really had no use for makeup on a daily basis, so she skipped it

like normal, not wanting to look like she was trying too hard on her first day of college. She was an adult now, and she shouldn't care about what others thought, right?

She threw her canvas bag over her shoulder after dropping her black Ray Bans, keys, and wallet into it. It was already overflowing with her smock, volleyball shoes and

spandex when she jammed a cutoff tee and sports bra onto the top. _That should do_, she thought to herself as she stepped out from her room.

The hall was vacant as she traversed toward the kitchen, and every click of her heels was like a knife in her ear, adding to the steady beat of pain in her head. Hangovers

sucked, and she suddenly remembered why drinking had never appealed to her. It led to forgotten nights and morning pain.

It bugged her that she couldn't remember the important aspects of last night. She knew something had gone down, something life-changing, important, and possibly

terrible. She threw her hands up in exasperation when nothing but blackness filled her mind. She reached the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with anger and resentment.

"Clary!" a familiar voice greeted cheerfully. Clary's hand flew to her temple, and her mother's face morphed from happiness to worry. "What's wrong, sweetie?" Jocelyn

asked, pressing a cool palm to Clary's forehead. It felt nice.

Jocelyn was everything that Clary felt she wasn't. She was beautiful. She was tall, but still maintained a slender frame, that was elegantly draped in a wrap shirt and

white skinny jeans, accentuated by golden high heels. Presentation was something of a big thing in their family, since Luke was a big-wig lawyer, his bookstore only his

guilty pleasure. Her mother was a prized artist, who often had to dress up for art shows and sales that it had basically become habit. Clary smiled at her mother. "Just a

headache, mom," she replied.

Jocelyn promptly rummaged through her purse, removing a bottle of painkillers and putting one in Clary's hand. She took it swiftly, excited for the pain to subside. "Clare-

Bear!" she heard a voice come from behind the island. She lifted her head and stretched up on her toes to see over Jocelyn's shoulder. A burly Luke smiled at her from in

front of a waffle iron, which began beeping loudly.

"Dad!" she cried, jumping into his arms as if she hadn't seen him forever. He was wearing tan cargo shorts, flip flops, and a light blue polo, probably due to her mother's

prompting. "You came here to make me your famous waffles?"

Luke smiled at her, flashing his perfect pearly whites before removing the waffle from the beeping iron and flipping it expertly onto a plate. "Can't mess with tradition,

now can we?" Clary shook her head, smiling. Her father had made her waffles for the first day of school for as long as she could remember. She always had little M&Ms in

hers, dotting them with colorful circles and melting perfectly into the batter. She dumped a boatload of Mrs. Butterworth's onto the topped and plopped down onto a

barstool, shoving a big bite into her mouth.

Isabelle and Alec flowed into the room, inquiring what the delicious scent emanating from the room was. Luke offered them waffles which they accepted eagerly, scarfing

them down nearly as quickly as Clary was. "Goo Mohin," Clary greeted around her breakfast, laughing at how funny the words coming out were.

"Hey, Clary," Izzy said with a grin on her face, "say, 'Apple.'" Clary swallowed, rolling her eyes at her friend.

"What are we? Two?" Izzy's grin stretched wider, as she said it herself around her own bite of waffle, earning a round of laughs from everyone in the kitchen.

"Hey, Iz," Jocelyn asked, her face resting in her palm. "Where's Maryse and Robert." Isabelle sighed, blowing a bit of black hair from her face and rolling her eyes toward

the ceiling.

"Your guess is about as good as mine," she said, a slight frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. The room settled into silence, with the occasional clank of a fork or

murmur of approval of the food, which were followed by polite _Thank you_'s from Luke.

"Alright, baby girl," Jocelyn said, wrapping Clary into a big hug. "Have an amazing first day. Luke and I have a piece of artwork to deliver." She released Clary to look,

who squeezed her, lifting her off the ground.

"I love you, baby," he said into her hair, dropping her to her feet and trailing Jocelyn out the door. Clary was nearly touched to tears that they'd come by to make her a

pre-college breakfast. She finished her waffle and dropped her plate into the sink.

"Clary, be thankful that you have awesome parents like that," Alec said from the kitchen table, polishing off his second waffle. Clary smiled and nodded. She'd heard

about how Alec's parents had basically disowned him after finding out about his sexual orientation. "Where's Jace?" he said, looking all around him as if the blond boy

were hiding behind the fichus in the corner.

"He doesn't have classes today, remember?" Alec looked off into the distance for a moment, and then nodded, grabbing his messenger bag from the back of his chair. He

had on dark jeans and a holey black t-shirt, typical Alec. "Let's roll." Clary and Izzy followed, bubbly talking about the day ahead of them, their first day of college.

x.o.x.o

Clary only had one class today, and it was a painting class, which possibly could m

ake Clary believe that Mondays were the best days of the week. She had the wooden tip of the paintbrush dangling from between her teeth as she squeezed paint onto

her palette. Her hair was knotted out of her face, and a button up shirt covered in paint protected her clothing. The canvas was propped on an easel in front of her, and

now the only thing she had to wait for was inspiration to strike. She took a sip of her water bottle, her eyes flickering to focus on the oak tree outside.

The leaves rustled gently in the breeze as a squirrel circled its branches, searching for a home. The tall, thick trunk wasn't doing anything to spark her creative juices, so

her eyes travelled downward, coming to rest on the gnarled roots below. They wove over and under each other, creating a thick mess of brown against the lush, green

grass. Clary's mouth fell open as her eyes flew shut, an image popping up against the backs of her eyelids as if it had been branded there. She dipped her brush into the

black paint and began sweeping the bristles across her paper, getting lost in her work, watching the image unfold before her.

She could vaguely hear the tick of the clock and the hushed whispers of the students, but the world seemed to melt away. She flawlessly reconstructed the image from

her brain onto the stark white paper before her. The painting unfolded, showing an intricate lacework of lines, slashing the paper with darkness, tangling with the white

and melting into the edges. She stepped back to study her work, feeling as if something were missing. She closed her eyes to try to imagine what it was. They flew open,

her green irises staring wildly at the page.

She washed her brush and dabbed it into the golden tan color, filling in the white areas with the skin-like tone, wondering where she'd seen these lines before, thinking

maybe she'd just imagine it. Looking at it from a distance again, she still didn't think it was quite right. She washed her brush again, squinting at her painting from

different angles and hoping the answer would just leap into her mind.

The solution finally came eight minutes before class was over. She perched precariously on the edge of the stool she'd dragged in front of her as she traced the planes of

a chest over the layers, watching in awe as it took on real shape and form, evoking a feeling inside of her that she couldn't quite place. It was like butterflies hammering

against the sides of her stomach. Her heart picked up pace, racing against her ribs so quickly that she believed her ribs were at least bruised. Her breath quickened pace,

coming out in short, uneven spurts, heavy and hot. Her lips tingled and were numb, like the feeling she got after an amazing kiss. Her palms broke into a light sweat, and

her brain went blank, like every coherent thought had suddenly decided to pack up and leave for vacation.

As class ended and students shuffled around her, paint supplies cleaned and placed in their respective locations, Clary stared at the canvas, barely blinking as she gnawed

enthusiastically on the end of a pencil she'd snatched from her bag. She'd resolved one thing in the time she'd sat there, rocking back and forth on the metal legs of the

stool. She knew that whatever she did, whatever happened, she had to find the owner of that tattoo, the man with the chest in her painting.

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><p><em>Hmmm...so...fluff? Like? haha next chapter=volleyball practice with one hot visitor ;) <em>

_Review? Inspire me! I seriously updated this today because I got a review from one very awesome person saying that they check this often to see if I update :) Please excuse my mistakes...it was typed very ferociously quickly, so quickly, in fact, that my keyboard couldn't keep up. Thanks for reading...(and reviewing) :D_


	6. Confusion and Hormones

_Lately, it has been hard for me to get inspired and sit down and write. Your reviews have been amazing and I hope you continue to review...if I could get a few more per chapter I'd be so happy, and possibly more motivated to get the chapters up quicker! :) Thanks...and Enjoy Jace's POV...I decided we should see inside his mind for this chapter...and possibly the next..? anyway...ENJOY :D_

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><p>Jace squinted against the sunlight, trying to mask his annoyance as his team lined up on either side of the line of scrimmage. It was a nice day, warm with a nice breeze blowing all around them, stirring up the colorful leaves in the trees and pushing wisps of clouds about in the sky. He wiped his sweaty fingertips against his orange quarterback jersey, risking a glance in the direction of the gymnasium. His Testarossa should have been going to volleyball practice, but she had yet to make an appearance. Jace dug the toe of his cleats into the grass of the field, angered he'd allowed himself to even think about her past their first kiss. <em>It's just because Isabelle interrupted us<em>, he explained to himself, worried by the wave of uneasiness curling through his stomach. His conscience even knew he was lying to himself, but he continued on with the self-deception. _If I just get her into my bed—_

"HERONDALE!" the coach screamed, piercing deeply into Jace's personal thoughts. He realized the team had been lined up for quite some time now, waiting for him to stop staring at the American flag waving proudly outside the end zone. Jace blinked a couple times, feeling something trickling down his chin. Oh, was that drool? He sucked it back in, shaking his head once for good measure. "You don't want to be running suicides after practice, do you?" Jace shook his head, muttering a quiet, no sir. He unintentionally rolled his eyes, thankful that the bars of his facemask obscured the coach's view.

"Alright, pansies," the coach said, slapping his thighs and assuming a defensive position next to a player who was nearly standing up straight. The boy crouched down instantly, his eyes boring down on the teammate that stood across from him. Jace's golden eyes flicked toward the other members, each glowering intently at their opponent. Had he been out for so long that he'd missed the morph from half-hearted game to full-out brawl? He licked his thumb and index finger in preparation for the ball to land in his hands, and the coach continued, content with everybody's stance. "If you run this play well, you may all be done with practice." Jace laughed humorlessly, one more time never meant done, not with this coach. He should know after all, since this was his step-father, Michael Wayland. Not that Jace had ever been allowed to call that man anything other than sir.

He clipped his chinstrap, sighing at the team around him. They were in the most basic formation, with the wide receivers out on each side. Behind Jace was the fullback, who had the tailback lined up behind him. In front of Jace, crouched low and ready to snap the ball was the center, who was flanked by the offensive guards. Outside the offensive guards were the offensive tackles, and then beside the right offensive tackle was the tight end. This setup was so simple, so easy that they called it Basic. He moved his eyes to the coach, who was warily eyeing the boys that he had positioned at the receiving positions. They hadn't been able to catch any of Jace's tosses today, and Jace knew they were perfect, a wobbly, inaccurate pass never left his fingertips. Michael had made sure to than when Jace was merely a young boy.

A shrill whistle pulled Jace's attention to the center, who hiked the ball squarely into Jace's awaiting hands. He felt at home with the brown pigskin firmly beneath his quarterback hands. The grips on the leather were a welcoming feeling, and a sense of calm washed completely over him. Here, on the football field with its perfectly manicured green grasses, white spray painted lines, and yellow goal posts, was his home, where he belonged. His fingers fit perfectly into the spaces between the white laces as he dropped back into the pocket his line had created. His eyes scanned across the field as he waited…and waited. His receivers hadn't curved out, hadn't sought out the coveted open spot. It was as if they were ball shy, desperately trying to avoid being open to avoid having to touch the football. He dropped his arm from where it was poised to throw, and ran, dancing between the defenders, dodging tackles, and running, cockily, into the end zone. "That's how it's done, boys," he said, yanking his chinstrap open and pulling his helmet off. He ran his hand through his sweaty, golden locks and risked a glance at the cheerleaders, waving seductively with his signature smirk in place against his mouth. He walked slowly back to the coach as they giggled gleefully. Yeah, he liked having that effect on girls.

The grass crunched beneath his cleats as he sauntered back to the crowd of awaiting football players. He had almost reached the pack when Michael parted the team and strode up to Jace. He stood a whole head shorter than the golden angel, with short, dark brown hair, and matching brown eyes. Jace puffed out his chest, stretching the height difference even further. He had known his step-father's reprimand would follow his actions, but frankly, he didn't care right now. He was on top of the world, as reflected in the awe and wonder that filled each of his teammate's expressions as they stared at him. To him, it was as if they were all bowing and kissing the ground he walked on. Coach Wayland was the one hater among many fans, one zit on the face of his popularity. Unfortunately, he was a festering pimple, that couldn't be popped without a bunch of pain and agony. "Herondale," he said gruffly, his face contorted into a horrifying scowl. "That was the dumbest maneuver I've ever seen. It was sloppy and uncoordinated. You could have been injured with the way you were flailing around the diving tackles." Jace sucked in a sharp breath, biting back his snarky comments, knowing it would only make his position worse. Then Coach Wayland cracked a grin, "Good job, Herondale, you know what being a quarterback is all about."

His stepdad clapped him on the shoulder, and Jace exhaled in disbelief. Had Michael Wayland just paid him a comment? He smiled and threw his fist into the air, "No guts," Coach Wayland said quietly from outside the small huddle.

"NO GLORY!" the team echoed, pushing and shoving their way off the field. Jace headed to the bench, dropping his helmet to the ground where it rolled to rest against the legs of the bench. Ripping off his orange jersey so he was only in a wife-beater, he grabbed his sports bottle and squeezed a stream of water over his head, allowing the droplets to fall off his face and race down the contours of his muscles, cooling the heated and flushed skin of his body.

"Nice job, Herondale," he heard a few of his teammates call from behind him. He offered them a quick thanks, squirting a stream of cool water against his dry tongue, winking at the cute cheerleaders who were flouncing around in their short skirts and low-cut tops. Kaelie was over there, but he didn't feel like talking to her. She was trying to show off, trying to impress him by attempting to do the splits, which was a fail since she was at least six inches off the ground still. He gargled the water and spit it out, flashing her a peace sign, disgusted by the fact that every girl he met felt the need to impress him, to give him her best. Then, they'd just progressively get worse from there. He wanted a girl that he'd love at her worst, but build up to be her greatest, but a few insecure girls here and there were nice, too. He grabbed his gear and headed toward the fieldhouse, where the locker rooms were. He walked along the path, the gravel scattering beneath the teeth of his cleats. A few stragglers from school lingered on the benches or in the shade of the oak trees, but otherwise the population on campus was pretty sparse.

His helmet thumped rhythmically against his thigh as he raised his hand to his eyes, shielding them from the blazing sunshine above. The pathway to the fieldhouse was empty, though Jace would have expected to meet Testarossa on her way to her practice. He dropped his gaze to the ground. He'd allowed his idle mind to wander to thoughts of that wonderful girl again. Flashes of that night sprang out at him, sick of being suppressed in the deep folds of his sub-consciousness: her fingers tangling into his hair, her fingers digging into his skin, her lips igniting fire against his own, the silky skin of her creamy throat. Everything about her intrigued him, everything captured his attention. Her green eyes were flecked with the most subtle amount of gold. Each freckle dotting her cheeks and bridging across her nose screamed out to be kissed by him, to be touched and caressed, to be acknowledged. He reached the edge of the gym with the rest of his team hot on his heels.

He paused in the doorway, doing a double-take just to make sure his eyes hadn't betrayed him. She sat on the floor, all alone with the golden lighting of the gymnasium shining down at her from every angle. She was illuminated in a brilliant, angelic glow, and Jace had to remember to close his jaw. He heard the snickers from behind him. "Herondale's got this," somebody whispered, and Jace snapped out of his staring spell. Her was a douche bag, a player. He flirted and fled, kissed and dissed. He didn't stop and ponder, he didn't settle down. So he did what he'd always done when he'd been frightened. He'd allowed the jerk façade he'd been hiding behind since he was young do all the talking. He opened his mouth just as she switched stretches, tossing her thick, red braids over her shoulders. It made him remember how the silky strands felt as he twirled them between his fingers, when he kissed the crown of her head. He hooted, pleased when his teammates joined in with a chorus of catcalls. He watched Clary stand up and make to leave, her head ducked low and her feet shuffling slowly away. Jace opened his stupid mouth. ""Aw, come on, another stretch, Testarossa! Preferably one where you bend over—"

Jace tucked as a volleyball came flying past his head, brushing against his ear and creaming Alec square in the face. Jace chuckled, standing up and brushing himself off, as if it had taken nothing at all to doge her spike. In all truth, it had been powerful, enough to make Alec stumble a few steps backward, his face now a nice shade of pink. He watched Clary turn on her heel and huff away. He had to speak just one more time. "Ooh, flexible and feisty…me like." He dodged another ball, not bothering to see who it got buried into this time. He fled into the men's locker room, grabbing his t-shirt and clean shorts and high-tailing it to the shower stalls. Thankfully, St. Xavier's had invested in the showers with their own stalls, so he stepped in, carefully locking the door behind him. He stripped off his wife-beater and shorts, removing his cleats and socks next. He cranked the water on the shower, stepping in.

He immediately jumped out of the spray, yelping as the cold water connected with his skin. He tested the water with his fingertip before hopping back in, allowing the warm water to roll off his blond hair, which hung in curls just to the bottoms of his ears. He ran his hands down his face, removing the traces of dirt and sweat that the day's practice had brought on. He tipped his head backward, the full spray of the shower enveloping him in a warm cloud of steam.

He gave himself one moment to think about Clary, the volleyball player, the housemate, the innocent, feisty, sweet, defiant girl. She was so many things, so many contrasting behaviors, dispositions. She was interesting, but Jace knew she was off limits in so many ways. First of all, she was younger than him, by nearly three years, and some reason, she seemed too innocent to be hanging around with a guy like him. Next, Izzy would totally kick his butt, or at least knee him where a man breathes. Lastly, nobody like her would ever fall for a guy like him. The universe wasn't that off-balance for that to ever happen. He gingerly touched the skin on his chest, raised, flaming patches of red that sliced up his chest, across his torso, down his sides. He had a thick black tattoo to cover most of the horrible spots, but ink couldn't cover the pain he felt, deeply rooted inside his core. He braced his hands against the tiled wall of the shower, leaning in and panting. He couldn't even think about it yet. He hadn't talked to anybody since it had happened. Not his mom, not his stepdad, not even his parabatai, Alec. He curled his fingers into tight fists, squeezing his eyes shut as tight as they could go.

He wasn't supposed to be weak, wasn't supposed to be injured or hurt. He didn't have feelings or emotions. He was Jace Herondale, son of Celine and Stephen Herondale, the man who taught him to be tough, to be strong. He opened his eyes, finishing his shower in a sullen haze, watching as the locker room emptied out, and he was the only one left, his elbows balanced on his knees and face buried into his hands. _I am Jace Herondale_, he repeated inside his head, willing the pain he felt inside to disappear. _I am Jace Herondale_. He finally sat up, hearing something echoing from over by the door. He watched as a figure slowly rounded the wall that separated the entrance from the rest of the locker room.

Jace stopped, watching Kaelie saunter over toward him. He couldn't help but notice she was no Clary. Her clothes were just a bit too tight and her hair just a bit too blond, but he was still a boy, and when she sat down on his lap and ran her fingertips down his face, he could just close his eyes and breathe her in. She didn't even smell remotely close to the amazing aroma that surrounded Clary. "Kaelie," he managed to stammer from in between the kisses she was plating on his lips, "this is not the girl's locker room." Kaelie pulled back, looking at him sheepishly through her mascara-caked eyelashes. Jace wanted to tell her she looked like she got gangbanged by Crayola, but for once, he bit his tongue, wanting to see what she would say.

"I know," she replied quietly, sucking her lower lip between her teeth. Jace cringed at her attempt of flirting, but this girl was easy, and he needed a distraction. "But I got a new car…" Jace arched his eyebrows, wondering what was wrong with Kaelie's pink Porsche. "And I was wondering if you wanted to christen it with me…?" Jace didn't even get to reply before she smashed her suffocating lips against his and lead him away.

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><p><em>So, inspire me, inquire me, respire me..okay maybe not the last one because it doesn't make sense, but I ran out of rhyming words...so...Review? :D XOXO<em>


	7. Falls Like Rain

_*Gets down on knees and begs forgiveness* I'm so sorry! This update is long, long, long overdue, but I couldn't help it. I've written it and rewritten it, and it's all just so angsty! It really couldn't be helped in this chapter, but all of you know that I'm all for HEA so don't feel too bad...anyways...I hope you enjoy where this is going! Thanks to all my faithful readers, and I apologize for any mistakes there may be before you read this..._

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><p>The uneven pitter-patter of rain filtered into Clary's bedroom, rhythmic thumps echoing from the walls as raindrops splattered loudly against the windowpane, racing down the cool glass with tracks of translucent liquid left behind. The rain had been threatening to spill from the overcast clouds for a few days now, and it had finally opened up completely, the downpour flooding the streets with no sign of seizing.<p>

The shades to Clary's bedroom were drawn, and a dull light seeped through the water-stained glass, casting the room in eerie shadows. The whole room seemed to have been wiped of all color, like an image flipped to grayscale. _Perfect_, Clary thought sadly as she rolled over, the twisted sheets constricting even tighter around her.

Her hair was wild and matted from last night's tossing and turning, the purple bags circling her eyes a tell-tale clue that she had gotten no sleep last night. She lifted her chin slightly and glared into the corner of her bedroom, where the canvas sat, covered by a thin cloth. She couldn't get that stupid chest out of her head, no matter how hard she tried, the flawless torso invaded her every coherent thought.

The way the perfect skin stretched taut over the hard knots of muscle beneath, the way the black ink of the tattoo curled perfectly around each inch of his flesh, the way the heat burned inside of her every time she conjured up a mental picture. It was aggravating, to think of something so wonderful, so artistic, and not know the origin of it, to not know who staked claim to the glorious chest that nearly made Clary hyperventilate.

It was astonishing to her that she could remember ever specific detail. Every curly, blond hair, every dark brown mole, every curve was branded behind her eyelids. Yet, for some unknown and abominable reason, she didn't know his name. Surely if she'd seen such a unique, exquisite sight, she would remember the person's name. Sure, she could have seen a random guy's shirtless figure while she was at the beach, but she would have never been close enough to see the pale, barely there freckles that dotted the surface of his skin. Clary scrubbed her hands over her face, feeling the heated flush of her skin. No random boy would have that effect on her. Her stomach churned with groups of butterflies. No, _butterflies_ was not a strong enough word to explain the hurricane in her stomach. It was as if her insides had been invaded by swarms of wasps, whirling around until Clary felt sick, stinging her when she tried to remember the boy's name.

She was close, so close. It started with a _J_, or at least she believed it did. "Jeremy?" she muttered quietly, the word even more muffled by the plush cotton of her pillow. "Jimmy?" None of the names that flashed through her mind matched the image in her brain. Maybe she'd never remember. Her palms began to sweat at the thought of never meeting the person that had inspired her to paint her greatest masterpiece, the masterpiece she didn't have the guts to hand into the teacher. Clary sighed, her tense shoulders relaxing as she settled deeper into her mattress—

_You only live once. That's the motto, ***** YOLO—_Clary's hand thrust out toward the nightstand where her ringtone was blaring at top volume. She fought the urge to scream at the caller on the other end as she hit the answer button and pressed it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked into the mouthpiece, flinching at how deep and husky her voice sounded. She blinked a few times and swiped her palms across her eyelids.

"Clary?" a very familiar voice asked, his voice full of anxiety and apprehension. Clary rolled her eyes, propping herself up on her elbows and swiveling her neck around, startled by the excessive popping noises that filled throughout the room. Sebastian wasn't usually one to be awake before noon, let alone call before seven o'clock.

Clary sighed heavily into the phone at her brother. "Seb, this is my phone. Who were you expecting. Dr. Seuss?" Sebastian let out a breathy laugh, and Clary could just picture his fingers knotting into his hair, his little nervous tick that he'd done ever since she met him.

"Well, no, not per se, but if you want, I will obey. I was just calling because I felt that with the rain falling—"

"Cut the rhyming, Seb."

"Thank, God," he said loudly, as if she'd actually just released him from a punishment. "My next sentence ended with the word orange, and that could have ended badly…" Clary laughed at his attempt of a joke, hoping to ease whatever was on her brother's mind. She shifted the phone to her other ear, and in that little movement, the picture came into her peripherals. Gold, black, and red all sliced across her mind, eating away at her slowly. She had to find out who that man was before the questions suffocated her. "Little Red?" Clary realized she hadn't spoken for awhile.

"I'm here…" Where did the red color come from? She hadn't really seen anything red in the image before. Had she painted red into the image?

"Good." She could hear him breathing on the other end, and she itched to just tell him goodbye, to hang up so she could investigate the painting in piece. She shook away that thought, knowing she couldn't ignore her brother when she heard how worried his voice sounded, how scared he seemed. "Do you—" he stopped, the other end of the line going silent. She would have thought he'd hung up, but the phone didn't beep, so she knew he was still here.

The rain still raged down outside, making Clary wonder how flooded the streets would be today. Would there be classes? Did the cancel classes for rain? She didn't know, so she just sat there, patiently waiting for Sebastian to continue with his question. She absently stood up and inched closer to the corner, the white cloth begging to be removed, the painting beckoning her closer.

"I've lost it," she mumbled, dragging her unwilling legs back to the bed.

"What was that?" Sebastian asked, making Clary's hand flutter to her chest in surprise.

"Nothing, just continue." Sebastian took in a large breath, something Clary often did to calm her nerves.

Do you…Do you…" he stumbled again. Clary yawned, turning around to watch the rain fill the ground with water puddles. "Do you remember what I told you the other day?" It came out in a rush, and Clary barely caught all the words. What did he tell her the other day? Had she seen Seb lately? Had she really even talked to him?

She could smell smoke as her brain struggled to remember what he was talking about. A flash of hurt coursed through her chest as the image unfolded before her, blurry at the edges as if it were dusty. Sebastian sat next to her at a bar, his face rested in his hand as he swigged from a beer. His mouth opened to say something, and the memory went black, as if it had been forgotten. Clary groaned in frustration.

"…No?" she squeaked quietly, figuring it was probably important since he seemed so worried. Her beliefs were confirmed when Sebastian didn't respond for a long time, his breathing the only thing that passed through the phone.

"You know what? Just meet me at Taki's for breakfast, alright? Pick you up at eight?" Clary agreed enthusiastically, excited that she was spending time with her brother gain. Had he broken up with Aline? Ever since he and Aline had become an "item", Sebastian had ignored her. She skipped to the bathroom with a new vigor and ran a brush through her hair, angrily trying to tug out all the knots from her sleepless night.

The smile on her face fell from her lips as her mind wandered toward last night's dream. She knew in the dream that she'd known who the boy was. She was talking to him! She'd seen his face in her dream! She just knew she did! But, alas, when she woke up, she forgot the specifics of the dream. The only thing that stuck with her was a stupid little pet name that she'd never even heard before. "Testarossa," is what he'd mumbled in a smooth, melodic voice before kissing her. And that was when she woke up and forgot everything semi-important, only remembering something that probably wasn't even connected to him, that probably was just one of her hormonal, teenage fantasies mingling with her memories.

She sighed and brushed her teeth, removing the rest of the night from her mouth as she spat the minty suds into the sink. She braided her fiery curls down each side and slipped on a pair of skinny jeans and a flowing top. She slid on her polka-dotted rain boots and shoved her arms through the matching coat. Taki's was only a block away, so she just decided she could walk. She didn't mind the rain. She actually welcomed rain. In some sort of cliché way, she liked tromping though the puddles while singing under her breath. Nobody was really outside while it rained, so it was one of the few places she actually felt comfortable using her voice.

Yes, she had been told she was a good singer, but only by her mother and Luke. Even Sebastian had never heard her sing, so as she skipped down the wet sidewalk, she began humming a tune, just humming the intro over and over again, trying to build up her courage to allow the words to burst from her lips, the pitches to blow up from her diaphragm, to just sing. The streets were abandoned, flooded with murky water that the drainage pipes struggled to keep lower than the curbs, so she didn't know why her hands were still slick with fear. You'd think she'd have gotten over the silly stage fright she'd had acquired after being laughed off stage when she was younger and trying to recite the lines to _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_.

She kicked up some water, watching the leaves swirl around in the puddle, the raindrops creating ripples in the small collections of water. She was nearly at the door of Taki's when she finally sang a few words, just the first two lines. She sang under her breath, so it was quiet, and with the seemingly monsoon that stormed around New York, nobody could hear.

_You, got me caught, in all this mess._

_I guess…we can blame it on the rain._

The bell chimed as Clary shoved into the small diner, those lyrics sticking with her as she spotted Sebastian, secluded in a corner. "Little Red!" he called, waving her over. She smiled in response, the soles of her boots squeaking and leaving dirty footprints as she tramped through the restaurant. The seats were fifties diner style, with linoleum topped tables and faux leather benches in bright colors like read. Well, even if the name wasn't spelled like the word, it certainly was tacky.

She slid into the booth, and Sebastian slid a menu toward her, his opened already. "Bro," she said, sliding the menu back over to him, "you know what I like." It was true. They'd eaten there a million times, and she'd never varied from her usual. A slow smile stole across Sebastian's tan face, his dark eyes dancing toward the area behind the counter.

Clary maneuvered to follow his gaze, just as a waitress dumped two plates down in front of the siblings, followed by two tall chocolate shakes. She smiled at her brother, inhaling the distinct scent of her beloved coconut pancakes. "You're the best," she said, staring hungrily at the steaming stack before her. He beamed down at his short, younger sister, shoving nearly a whole pancake in his mouth as Clary grabbed her knife and began sawing a hunk off hers. She dunked it in the dish of maple syrup and stuck it into her mouth, her eyes rolling back in her head a little at the delicious taste of pancakes and coconut.

She'd nearly finished half a pancake when a thought occurred to her. "So, earlier, you were saying…" Sebastian nervously scratched at the back of his neck, his eyes crinkling up a little at the edges as he gazed out the window.

"Quite a storm out there…" he commented in a hushed murmur. He looked distant, and Clary kicked his shin under the table, hard.

"Don't do that with me Sebastian. I can and will beat you up." She waved her fork and knife around for emphasis, which Sebastian, not-so-discreetly, removed the latter from her hand. He dropped it on his own plate, the clang of metal causing heads to snap up around the room. There were a few hushed whispers and glares from Clary before they returned to their meals. "Spit it out, or I'll make good on my promise to castrate you—"

"I knocked up Aline," he blurted, cutting her off before more profanities from their childhood spilled out into open air. Clary dropped the fork to the table, an even louder bang resounding in the room, echoing in her ears. All eyes were on Clary, who was frozen with a deer in the headlights look.

Was he kidding? Clary couldn't focus. Her vision kept swirling in and out until she was sucked down, a memory enveloping her consciousness. The whole scene of her and Sebastian at the bar was remembered, everything. She remembered how he'd said he was engaged, how she'd expected Alec to pop out and tell her it was a practical joke. She remembered Aline's swollen belly, and her churning stomach. She remembered Isabelle and Simon. She remembered. In her memory, she grabbed two beers and downed them. Then, her recollection faded to black, leaving her with more questions than answers.

She suddenly felt very dizzy. Aline had made her high school years a living hell. She had tortured Clary both physically and socially. She felt tears sting her eyes. Her brother wasn't supposed to betray her like this! He was supposed to protect her, to love her more than any of his little crushes. He should have been keeping Aline away from her, not dragging them together with an eternal bond!

Eternal bond! Clary would be stuck with having Aline as a sister-in-law for her entire life! Clary pressed her palms to her cheeks and eyed her brother for a moment, scrutinizing him. He was so good! He didn't do that kind of thing, especially to Clary. Well, that statement was true, until now. Clary stood up abruptly, fingering her braids nervously as she opened her mouth to speak.

She saw the fear in her brother's eyes, fear of what she was going to do right then: bolt. She covered her mouth, forcing the tears of frustration back into her head. After releasing a shaky breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, she removed her hand. "I'm…I'm not doing…what you think I'm doing."

"Well, then what is it, Clary? Because it sure feels like you're leaving me when I need you most." Clary let one tear slip down the corner of her nose. She flicked it away, pausing a moment to think about what she was going to say.

"I just…need a moment to think." She didn't wait for his response before rushing out the door, the wind whipping her braids around. She raised her hood and ducked her head, to avoid the rush of air bombarding her face. She let the tears slip down her face, dropping onto the pavement below and meshing with the rain until she didn't know where her own aggravation stopped and the cloud's sorrows began.

She was vaguely aware of her feet sloshing through the nearly ankle-deep puddles. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the wind picked up, the water shooting against her skin and pricking like needles. She cursed her thoughtless love of the rain, realizing her mistake too late. She knew Seb would be, but she really didn't feel like turning around and meeting his face. "Seb, if you so much as touch me, I will make record your every secret on a video and upload it to YouTube." She heard loud grumbling behind her, but she trudged forward, where the rain was falling harder.

She'd been stumbling down the street for a moment, unbalanced by the speed and strength of the wind, when she knocked into someone's shoulder. "Hey, watch it, brat!" a nasally voice squealed. Clary peeped up, prepared to apologize when she saw who it was.

Kaelie walked hand-in-hand with a boy, his blond hair peeping out beneath the hood of his black sweatshirt. It was soaked and clinging to his body, but Kaelie was perfectly dry under an umbrella that she wasn't sharing. "Kaelie, always a pleasure to see your face! Now maybe I'll finally be able to throw up that nasty supper I ate last night!" Kaelie scoffed and shoved Clary away. She stumbled and fell off the curb, water soaking through her jeans and into her socks.

She lay on the curb, shocked for a moment as Kaelie snickered, pointing and whispering something to the boy next to her. Clary watched as he removed his hood. Jace looked at her, his eyes full of concern. Clary shook her head and heaved herself off the ground, moving to cross the street with her eyes cast downward.

_You, got me caught, in all this mess._

_I guess…we can blame it on the rain._

"Little Red!" Seb's voice reached her ears, and she turned her head just in time to see the headlights of the car just inches in front of her. She didn't feel anything as it connected with her. She just felt, like she was flying. She heard the crack as her body bounced against the pavement. She heard a voice call in the distance. "Testarossa!" _That name…_was her last coherent thought before a darkness captured her in its clutches and dragged her under.

X.O.X.O.X

_Beep…Beep…Beep_. It's funny how you always know you're in a hospital before you wake up. The sounds of the heart monitor tracking her pulse, the scuffle of nurses and visitors, the ungodly scent of sterilizer that seemed to puncture your nostrils were all dead giveaways to your location, so when Clary woke up, she immediately realized that when people woke up in hospitals in movies and asked, "Where am I?", it was completely and utterly unrealistic.

Clary felt the IV feeding her some fluid through her wrist, she was aware of the nurse attending to her, she heard the soft murmuring of voices from somewhere in the room, and she hadn't even opened her eyes. What had happened? Her head was pounding, any sound causing a pang of pain to shoot through her skull. She ventured to guess she'd been hurt somehow, and she probed her mind to see what had happened.

The headlights. The glass crunching. The earsplitting crack of her head against the pavement. It was a little much, and she gasped. She heard the whoosh of air as the nurse turned around to face her. "Clary, honey? Are you awake?" The lady's voice was kind, concerned. Clary opened her mouth, but found that she couldn't speak. "It's okay, Clary. You don't have to speak. Can you open your eyes?" Clary cracked on eyelid. "Good, good." The pen made a scratching noise against the paper as the nurse wrote something down. Clary cringed against the noise. "Clary, do you remember what happened?"

Clary remained perfectly mute, unable to find her voice, so instead she moved her eyes up and down. She'd attempted to nod, but the motions of her neck were hindered by a brace. Just that moment, Clary's mother burst into the room. "My baby!" she sobbed into the foot of Clary's bed. Clary made no move to console the sobbing woman, but only because she could barely move herself.

"Shh," the nurse cooed at Jocelyn's kneeling figure. "She just has a few broken bones." She looked at Clary, and added, "Though you may be slightly dizzy because you lost a lot of blood, and we had to perform a blood transfusion."

Clary's eyebrows knit together. Come to think of it, the room was kind of spinning…

"Luckily, the man that came to visit you had type O blood. He offered to donate it, and we took it, seeing as you are type AB." Jocelyn still sobbed quietly on the floor, but Clary looked up quizzically at the nurse. Didn't they usually just get the hemoglobin from the blood bank? Her thoughts were interrupted when a cheerful looking Luke popped into the room.

"Clarebear! So glad you're awake."

"Ah, there he is," the nurse said, gesturing toward the small bandage on the inside of Luke's elbow. I frowned, my brain clicking. I'd taken enough biology classes to know that type O blood couldn't mix with any other blood to make a type AB blood for a child.

I finally gained mobility and used my arm to scratch my head. "But that's my dad." It seemed that I had found my voice to.

"Adoptive?" The nurse asked, her eyes mimicking my confusion.

"Biological," I said quietly, looking between Luke and my mother, "or so I had thought."

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><p><em>Ooh...the bomb has been dropped. *Cue Explosion* this is setting up for where in the summary it says some secrets are revealed that change her life forever...*Waggles eyebrows unattractively* ;) Also for those of you that don't understand the blood thing...Yeah Ik, it's confusing...so here's the low down. Type O blood (ii) mixed with type AB blood (AB, duh) only produces eigher type A blood (Ai) or type B blood (Bi) Type O blood cannot be crossed with any blood type to genetically produce type AB blood, so Luke is not Clary's real father...If you don't get that now..well google it...because I am not a good teacher haha.<em>

_Music:_

_The Motto by Drake, Tyga (#GrowlMakesMeSwoon), and Lil Wayne :) Explitives removed...just cuz I may say'em doesn't mean I write'em._

_And_

_Blame It On The Rain by He Is We...listened to it while I wrote this whole chapter...doesn't really have anything significant except those two lines...(The significance will probably pop up later, so hold tight.) As always...I write this with All My Love and in high hopes that you will feed my addiction of reading reviews._

_PEACE! V -awkward Peace sign for people that don't have palms...I'm in a weird mood._

_BallinBlonde21-out._


	8. What Are you Getting Into?

_I am not completely confident in this chapter...seeing as I typed it and posted it without rereading it...Sorry O.o it may or may not make sense and I may delete it and rewrite it...depending on the kinds of reviews...but it's fluffy and happy and I hope you enjoy it!_

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><p>White sheets, white walls, white gowns, white trays—the reoccurring color scheme of the hospital appeared to be white. Pure, sterilized white coated everything, and Clary absolutely hated it. Her pallid surroundings had turned Clary's creamy complexion into pasty, nearly translucent skin. The blue veins that laced up her arms stood out, stark in contrast to her flesh. The usually brown freckles flecked her skin in a bright red, her nose and cheeks coated heavily in the crimson color.<p>

Her head throbbed, a dull aching pain that did not even compare to the tearing feeling that she felt in her chest. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her mother's broken expression as she tried to civilly explain the reasoning for lying about Clary's bloodline. Clary still winced at the stone-cold voice that escaped her lips as she told her mother to leave, as she told her to not come back. She knotted her frail fingers into the tangled red curls that spilled across the pillow case, squinting her eyes against the tears threatening to fall.

It had been six hours since she'd found the truth, and she'd spent all three hundred and sixty minutes in wistful nostalgia, trying to decipher between the reality and fabrication of her childhood memories. Every cheerful event that she'd stored in her mind felt dishonest, felt more like a movie than her own life. Each seemingly picturesque moment of her life was just another thread of mendacity, weaving itself into the ever growing web of lies that was her existence. Even up until yesterday felt fake to her.

How could Luke not be her father? He was the man that had strapped on her elbow pads and helmet for the first time she'd ridden her bike. He'd been there to lift her up on his shoulders so that she could reach the branches of the apple trees in his parents' orchard. Luke had been there when she spoke her first words, when she learned to walk. He was the main character of her childhood fairytale, her five-year-old's knight in shining armor. Yet he was never her father. She increased the pressure on her hair, her breath heavy in the darkened room. A wall lamp glowed dully in the corner, and torrent raged outside the window. Clary barely noticed.

Branded against her eyelids was the scene from earlier. Every bat of an eyelid caused another wave of pain to ripple through her body, unyielding no matter how hard she tried to will it away. She'd attempted to seize blinking all together, the most simplistic, involuntary muscle movement causing the worst damage. But she was tired, and could only hold out for so long. Eventually, her strength faltered and the faces leaked in, leaving her breathless and stunned.

T_he color drained from Jocelyn's features as she peered up at her daughter, the weak redhead gripping the thin hospital blanket with white fingers. Clary's green eyes glistened with unshed tears, her internal confusion masked with an expression of pure rage. Didn't they feel the need to tell her that the man who'd raised her, the man who'd lifted her up to pick apples from trees, the man who taught her to drive, was not the man that had helped create her? Her breathing was shallow, labored as the monitor connected to her heart beeped slightly faster, though not at an alarming rate. _

_ Her anger rooted deep in her chest, blossoming out to every pore of her body. She was filled with so much boiling aggression that she thought she thought that there may be steam radiating from her skin, filling the deadly silence of the room. Clary's eyes narrowed as she forced the wellspring of saltwater to disappear, and she watched as Jocelyn's thin, artist's fingers fluttered up to her open mouth, eyes wide and unblinking. "Clary, just…just let me—"_

_ "Get out," Clary growled. Though it was low and quiet, there was an undertone that was menacing, as if there was an implied threat that went along with the two words. Jocelyn didn't move, and Clary noticed look for the first time, his face sullen as he gripped his wife's shoulders, trying to steer her to the door. Jocelyn shrugged him off, leaning toward her daughter as tears dripped from her cheeks, splattering against the sterilized flooring of the hospital. Clary cringed, realizing the atmosphere in the room was so silent that had actually heard the water droplet hit the ground. _

_ "Clary—" Jocelyn tried again, but Clary wasn't having any of it, crossing her arms and repeating her message, her eyes focused on Jocelyn's. It was green-on-green, the perfect matching irises that had always echoed the same joy and laughter, squinting and softening the edges with smiles. But today, today they were complete opposites. Jocelyn's were wide and shimmering, glazing over as she tried to plead with Clary, beg her to listen. But Clary's, they were slit, barely a sliver of emerald poking through as she shoved her mother away, told her things a daughter should never tell her mother. But what was she supposed to act like? Was she supposed to be all forgiveness and smiles as she realized her whole life was a lie? No, no normal child would graciously accept the fact that she is not of blood relation to her father, so Clary merely glared as her parents' shaking forms excited the room, sniffling and whispering as they went._

Her eyes fluttered open and a whimper escaped her mouth. The light in the corner had been extinguished, and the room was drenched a blackness. The rain had kept pace, morphing into a full on thunderstorm. She shivered beneath the threadbare blanket, blinking rapidly against the wave of emotion coursing through her. Did she still feel that way? She didn't hate her parents, but she was so confused and didn't really want to talk to them.

There was a scuffle from the corner of the room that broke her out of her musings, her eyes widening in terror. Her breath hitched, and she mentally ran through the list of fighting moves she knew. A swift kick to the groin, an uppercut to the jaw and she should be home free. Steeling against her fears, she swallowed the lump in her throat and opened her mouth, "Hello?" There was no reply, and her heart rate on the monitor speed up, adding an eerie, uneven beeping noise to the picture. Her grip tightened around the edge of the mattress, her eyes searching the shadows for a threat. Slowly, the red lines on the monitor's screen slowed and evened out.

Her eyelids drooped again, and she felt her lashes grazing the hollows beneath her eyes. A clap of thunder sent them flying back open, lightening throwing the room into a terrifying white light, illuminating a figure hunched in the chair in the corner. Clary squeaked in surprise, backing up against the headboard of the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. Sucking in a deep breath, she readied herself for the glass shattering scream. Before she could unleash the shrill sound on the entire hospital, a strange, yet oddly familiar hand clamped down over her mouth.

A lamp beside her bed was switched on, and she met gazes with beautiful, tawny orbs. "Jace," she moaned, slightly in awe of his beauty and still heavily sedated. Her voice was muffled against his warm skin. He seemed to radiate heat, her entire body warming from his presence. Her gaze wandered down to his black t-shirt and dark-washed jeans. When it finally rose back to his chiseled face, she saw his lips were graced with a smirk. A blush flooded to her cheeks. He'd caught her looking.

"Are you going to scream?" His angelic voice sent a swarm of butterflies to her stomach. Why was she swooning over this douche bag? She knew she should be fearing him because he'd snuck into her hospital room past visiting hours and could easily overpower her, especially since she was injured, yet she found her red corkscrew curls brushing her cheeks as she shook her head. "Good," he whispered, his breath fanning across her face. His voice seemed tinged with relief as he dropped his hand to his side. They sat in silence for a moment, Clary peering up at him with confusion plain on her face. His sunlight eyes were hooded, his expression neutral as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

"How did you get here?" she asked finally, the weight of the silence crushing against her. Jace lifted his fingers to his chin, his tongue darting out to lick at the corner. Clary had never seen a more perfect tongue.

"Well, young Clary, when a mother and father love each other very, _very_ much—" Clary waved her hand in annoyance.

"No," she clarified, "in my hospital room." His face shifted for a fraction of a second, and if Clary hadn't been studying it so carefully, she would have never noticed. It seemed for almost a second that he cared about someone other than himself. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck nervously, his t-shirt riding up and showing a line of golden skin above the waist of his jeans.

"I, um, I felt like I owed you a visit…you know…since I was there an all." His response was mumbled, unsure even, and that filled Clary with a tinge of anger.

"You, Jace Wayland, owe me nothing. I don't want your pity," she spat between gritted teeth. Her heart warred with her mind, the swooning fantasy versus her own self value.

Jace thrust his hands into his hair, sighing audibly. "It's…it's not a pity, Clary," he said quietly, his golden gaze moving from the floor to her face, flickering between both of her eyes. She took a moment to study his, shocked by the well of emotion residing inside them. "Look," he said, returning his hands to his pockets and his gaze to the floor. "Do you want to take a walk with me?" Clary's jaw nearly dropped.

"My butt hangs out of the gown, Jace," she stated plainly, thinking of no other excuse fast enough. She did not want to become another notch on Jace Wayland's headboard. His teeth caught his lower lip, and she could tell he was biting back a smile as he tossed a discarded sweatshirt at her. It was a football hoodie, with Wayland stretched across the back in big, block letters. She tugged it over her head, not planning on going with him but grateful for the coverage and warmth. She paused momentarily as it was over her head, inhaling a quick sniff of his sunshine and Axe scent.

"Did you just…sniff my sweatshirt?" There was a lazy grin on his face as she poked her head through the hole.

"No…" she said unconvincingly as her cheeks and neck heated. Jace rolled his eyes, his smile and ego growing bigger.

"You ready now?"

"It's past visiting hours, Jace. We could get into trouble." Her excuses were getting lamer and lamer as she attempted to deflect his offer. His answering smiles were like a push toward him, and she knew he was winning already.

"Awe, come on. Live on the wild side, Testarossa." Her mouth was opened, ready for another explanation to roll off her tongue.

"I have a heart monitor, and I'm dizzy, and—wait, what did you say?" Her pulse quickened again as his gaze rolled up to the ceiling, confused.

"Um…I think I told you to live on the wild side…you know like…'Welcome to the jungle, where we've got fun and games—"

She cut off his Guns N' Roses rendition, standing up swiftly from the bed, ignoring the severe head rush that accompanied the movement. "After that," she whispered, slowly closing the distance between them. Their toes were touching, his warm exhales tickling her hair, which was level with his chin.

"Testa-Testarossa," he stuttered, his hands falling from his pockets to his sides, twitching toward her small waist.

"What are you _really_ doing here?" she asked, bhe didn't stop, fisting her hands into his t-shirt and raising the thin fabric, exposing the taut muscles of his abdomen.

"Clary," his voice was pained as he choked out her name, though he made no move to stop her. She flattened her palms against the ridges of his stomach, slowly pushing the black shirt higher, over his abs, up his chest. He lifted his arms as he pulled it off completely, dropping it in a pool of black at their feet.

There it was, directly in front of her. It was exactly like her picture, golden and tan and beautiful. She breathed evenly, unafraid. For some reason, this didn't scare her. It was familiar, like it was something she had memorized one time. She knew the curve of his pecks, she had memorized every swirl of the inky tattoo, the one that mingled with the raised, red lines that slashed randomly across the front of the flawless skin. She pressed her palm against the area above his heart, feeling his heat soak through her own skin, down to her bones, sending electric shocks up her arm.

It was addicting and perfect, and she didn't want to stop touching him, ever. She looked up at his face, a surge of lost memories rushing back into her mind, snapping everything into place.

Sebastian telling her he'd gotten Aline pregnant for the first time, Simon and Isabelle together at the bar, Jace and her sharing the taxicab, the hard wall against her back as Jace supported her, the stimulating kissesshared between them, Her fingers in his hair, his hands at her waist, Isabelle warning him not to take advantage of her, Jace assuring Izzy that he wouldn't just before Clary passed out.

She bit her lip, seeing Jace's sad expression. His eyes wouldn't meet hers as he reached out to pull his shirt back on, firmly keeping her hands away from the thing she'd been searching for. "Gruesome, isn't it?" His voice wavered as he sat on the edge of the bed, dropping his face into his hands. Clary's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, eyeing the submitting pose of one of the strongest men she knew, yet she didn't skip a beat before responding.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, averting her eyes as he looked up. She hadn't meant for him to hear her admit that, but the wet shimmer that had glazed his eyes told her he needed to.

"No one has ever seen me shirtless before," he murmured so quietly that Clary believed it was to himself. She found that hard to believe, though the look in his eyes, the vulnerable, open depths told her that it was the complete truth. Her mouth opened. "I always had a tank top on." He had known what she was going to ask.

"Why?" she managed to ask after a moment, biting her lip as she waited for him to reply. She heard a ragged sigh as his hands knotted deeper into his hair.

"They'd cringe at the scars. They're jagged and ugly."

"I didn't cringe," she pointed out, wishing she hadn't when Jace's eyes grew wild.

"Why didn't you? They represent my weakness. They represent my pain and my failure. They are gross. The tattoo can only hide so much."

"I don't think they show your weaknesses. They show that you were strong enough to pull through."

A lifeless laugh filled the air. "Pull through, what exactly? You don't even know."

"I'd like to know…" she said, positioning herself on the bed beside him.

"I don't want your pity," he snarled, and she placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. His fingers moved to pinch the bridge of his nose. "You remember, don't you?"

"Remember what?" Her eyebrows rose at the suddenness of his question.

"The night, after the party."

"Yes."

"Good." He replied simply, before returning to silence. Clary had no idea what to do in a situation like this, so she just sat there, her shoulder pressed against his arm for support. It had to have been nearly ten minutes of silence before he spoke again.

"I broke up with Kaelie, you know." Clary sat there, waiting for him to expand on the topic. "Right after I made sure you were safely in the ambulance." She knew Kaelie had pushed her in front of the car, but she had forgotten that Jace was even there.

"You called 911?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

He answered quickly. "You were hurt. You needed medical attention."

"So then, why are you here, and don't give me that, 'To make sure you're okay,' crap because if that had been the case, you would have shown up roughly five hours ago." His muscles tensed, his jaw tightening.

"Because ever since I saw you, I…I…I just…"

"You what, Jace?" He turned toward her, a softness in his features that she'd never witnessed before. His finger reached up to lift her chin as his face loomed pleasantly above her. She allowed her eyelids to slip closed as she felt the energy between them grow stronger, sparking and igniting heat that spread from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. His lips touched hers gently, just a soft, closed-mouth kiss. He left his finger hooked beneath her chin as he pulled away, her lips tingling delightfully, a smile pulling at the corners. She saw her expression reflected on his face.

"I care about you, Clary." She twirled a piece of hair around her finger, contemplating the multiple meanings behind those five words.

"Jace," she sighed, watching him wince because she sounded as if she was rejecting him. "I just, I don't want to be another one of your quests."

His hair fell around him like a golden halo, swirling around him as he turned toward her, pushing against her shoulders until she was laying back on the bed. He planted kisses against where her neck met her shoulder, tracing a trail up until his lips were against her ear, his breath hot and labored. "I can't explain this feeling. I've never felt this way before. You make me nervous. You make me question my words and my actions. You make me want you. And that's weird because usually girls just want me. But one thing I know, is that this feeling is strong, and you won't just be _another_ girl. Even if I have to wait forever, you will be _my_ girl." With that, he planted one final kiss behind her ear and snuggled up against her, throwing a heavy arm over her waist.

"Will you tell me why you're so afraid of what people think of your scars?" His face was buried in her hair and his reply was muffled, humming against her scalp, though she caught it, oddly in tune to his voice. It sounded like _someday_. She rolled to face him, careful to keep his arm over her. The alive feeling that she'd felt the night of the party was back, waking every pore in her body, making them yearn to be closer to Jace. She felt like she belonged in the crook of his shoulder, like his fingers were made to weave with hers, like his lips were a perfect match to her own. She reached up and curled her fingers into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. "Well, I think they are perfect."

She closed her eyes, comforted by the mint aroma of his breath over her face, of the weight of his arm over her body, of the warmth flooding into her, of the smile on her lips. Her last coherent thoughts were _Jace Wayland. What are you getting yourself into girl?_

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><p><em>So? Reviews make me write faster...just sayin.<em>


	9. Skeletons and Scars

_Hey, my lovelies! This is going to be my only update for awhile :( sorry! I had this finished last Sunday, but I didn't realize it didn't upload and then I left the state for a basketball camp. Bummer! I was so disappointed. But anyways, here it is in all its glory, ready to be read and reviewed (please? c: ) I may or may not have an update for My Love Is Time today, it depends if I finish packing. Yup, packing. I go camping for a week to a place with no electricity so unfortunately that means no internet and no updates...at all...then after that I leave for a week and a half on another trip without internet. I will be silent for awhile and for that I am sorry :( but for now...ENJOY!_

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><p>The hospital window acted as a frame to the eastern sky. The picturesque sunrise had replaced the normal blue coloring with varying shades of reds and pinks, the scattered clouds tinged a deep purple. It appeared to be something out of a fairytale—not that Jace Wayland had ever been read a fairytale. Michael Wayland was not one for teddy bears and story time. He was more of the tough love type, and Jace had the marks to prove it.<p>

The scars that littered his body flared up with pain even when he merely thought the man's name. He absently ran his thumb over the most recent one, still puckered and jagged from the blade of the knife. Maybe if his real father had never died, his life would have been different, easier. Jace had never met Stephen Herondale. He was a name with no face that was sometimes brought up in casual conversation, the way someone would talk about the current weather pattern or a new pet. Through the years, Jace had many people approach him and inquire him about his late father, usually saying something along the lines of, "Yeah, Stephen Herondale. I knew him. He was a good man." After those few words that had no emotional effect on Jace, they'd usually compliment the blond-haired boy by saying he looked just like his father.

That sentiment stirred something inside the young man. Biologically, he was the offspring of Stephen Herondale, but legally and ultimately, he was the son of Michael Wayland. He knew Michael Wayland as his father, and he was nothing like that cruel, sadistic man. Though he often wondered what his life would have been like had Stephen lived and remained his one and only father, Stephen wasn't, and Jace couldn't change that fact, not since the noble man had died while serving his country.

Michael Wayland, the man Jace knew as his father, had dark, flat hair and icy blue eyes that matched his equally cold soul. He was short and stocky with thick muscles that rolled in uneven patches down his arms and legs. They protruded absurdly through his usual attire—douche bag muscle shirts and dirtied jeans. He was also one of the worst men that Jace had ever associated himself with. He was sly, only doing things that would better himself, trying to propel himself forward by thrusting others backward. He was manipulative, always playing the puppet master by controlling everybody else's strings, pulling them and twisting them until the poor soul had no clue which way was right and which was left. He was also abusive and considered himself to always be right. He was the reason Jace never bared his chest in front of others, even to those he was the closest with, those that wouldn't judge him by the intricate network of scars lacing across his pectorals and over his shoulders, slashing horizontally and diagonally across his back. Each was a different shape, a different width, a different depth. They all had a story, and though Jace had tried to forget the creation of each one, he never could forget the lessons that had brought them on.

Michael Wayland was the man to thank for Jace's womanizing ways. He was the cause of Jace's habit of taking all the women would give him and then discarding them like last week's garbage, completely disregarding the females' fragile feelings. Old Man Wayland was the reason Jace was denying the emotions that overwhelmed him every time he saw Clary in his peripherals, every time he saw her smile, heard her laugh. He was the reason Jace thought of himself as messed up, as broken.

Michael Wayland had married Jace's mother Céline when the golden-eyed boy was just over three years old. Jace hadn't found out until later that Michael Wayland had only pretended to love Mrs. Céline Wayland for the money she'd received from the government for the loss of a great soldier and a great husband. Michael had been trailer trash before meeting Céline and wooing her with dozens of gas station roses and Dixie cups of cheap champagne. Michael Wayland had been part of Jace's upbringing from his toddler years and on up. And when Jace had been five, Céline had taken her own life. The lazy police didn't even run an investigation, chalking it up to severe depression from the loss of her first husband, but Jace had known better. The police may have overlooked the elaborate lacework of thin, pink scars that wove themselves into every inch of her covered flesh, but he never had. They may have ignored the faded, yellowed bruises that marred her arms and neck, but Jace hadn't. He'd sat in silence as the court granted Michael Wayland full custody of young Jace. He'd sat in silence as Michael Wayland took his mother's entire life savings as his own, spending it as he pleased.

He remembered the day that he had seen things no three-year-old should ever see. It was still branded into his mind, forcing itself to resurface every so often, just when the universe felt that Jace should suffer. It was as fresh as if it were yesterday, the emotions as strong as if it were still happening.

The sky had been dark, overcast with heavy rain thundering against the old wood paneling of the creaking house. Tree branches scratched heavily against the windowpanes, creating noises that would have any young child on edge. Jace sat quaking in fear of the darkness, backed up against the bars of his crib with his eyes wide open, seeking the monsters that lurked in the shadows. A flash of lightning lit up the entire world around the small boy, relieving his fears momentarily before rejuvenating them with a loud clap of thunder that shattered the serenity. This sent Jace vaulting over the railings of his confining bed, running down the hall as quickly as his small legs would carry him.

He'd lived in a very big house from a small age. His bedroom had been located in a wing completely opposite of his parents' bedroom with the living areas strategically placed in between. He'd had to skid through the kitchen, then past the tables of the living room before even reaching the hallway that lead to his mother. Each flash of lightning, each angry boom of thunder sent him propelling forward toward the warm arms of the only person who could ever comfort him. The air in the house was cold, both from the storm and the air conditioner. He was shivering by the time he had reached the door of the master bedroom. His arms stretched upward, groping for the doorknob that seemed to loom just out of reach. He remembered his cheeks warming with exertion, driving a small amount of the chill away. He also remembered the earsplitting scream that penetrated his small heart. It echoed back in his mind again as he lay in the hospital bed with Clary, has arms tensing around her small frame. He felt the same way he had that night, like a knife had been shoved into his chest, and his blood coated Michael Wayland's hands.

When young Jace had finally been able to open the door, he unthinkingly launched himself into the situation, nearly tripping over his feet as he rushed to get through the door. He scanned his surroundings, seeing the silhouettes of familiar objects shadowed by the darkness. He noticed the lumpy shape of the old dresser that was filled with his mother's things and had frames containing family photos covering the flat top. He examined the torrent raging outside the house, the curtains parted so he had an unobstructed view of the storm. He saw the vanity where his mother sat every morning, staring into the mirror and brushing odd substances onto her face while Jace cheerfully chatted with her from his perch on her bed. He saw that object last, his stomach sinking when his eyes finally connected with his mother's, hers wide with alarm and distress, his open with shock and worry. Her head shook back and forth in a jerky motion, her short, blond hair brushing her jaw line with the motion. She lifted her arm to send a signal to her son, but before she could press her finger against her lips, Jace's mouth opened.

"Mommy?" he squeaked, taken aback by the pitch his voice had risen to. He was alarmed by the amount of blood that changed her skin from tan to crimson. He was concerned about the possessive way Michael held onto her, digging his fingers hard enough into the shoulders to leave purple marks in the shape of his fingertips. "Mommy, are you okay?" He took a step closer, and Céline released a choked sob. Michael's head whipped around to eye the intruder with wild eyes. His face was contorted with anger as his gaze landed on his stepson.

"What is this, my dear Céline?" he said, his voice unrecognizable to Jace. He had never enjoyed Michael's presence, but never had the man sounded as crazy as this. "It seems you have taught the boy compassion." A sick smile graced his lips as a knife blade glinted in the darkness. "Let's change that, shall we?" Jace's mother scrambled to grab the man's arm, but he simply slashed her wrists, effectively pushing the injured woman away. Leaving her wounded and crying in a heap on the bed, Michael closed the distance between himself and his stepson, his smile wicked and dark. His eyes were hooded though, devoid of emotions that would have showed Jace that he actually cared.

Jace didn't feel the pain from the cut at first, just watched the blood spring out from the star-shaped carving and dye the shoulder his t-shirt red. He didn't scream as his father made another incision across his chest, laughing with each swipe of the knife. "This is all love gets you, boy. This is all love gets you." With that, Michael shoved Jace in the hallway and locked the door. Jace sat in the hallway, his hands sticky from where he held his tattered shirt together. The sting of the wounds was a dull throb that he'd shoved to the back of his mind. He kept hearing Michael's words replay over and over again. _This is all love gets you. _Hadn't his mother told him that love was a good thing, the best feeling in the world? Didn't he tell his mother that he loved her daily? Was he wrong?

After that night, Jace had never repeated the three little words that used to be his mantra. The ones he used to say all the time. To love was to lose. If you had nothing to love, then you had nothing to lose. Love was a weakness. It made you vulnerable, like a chicken sticking its neck out for the butcher. He scrubbed his hands over his face, warily eyeing the redhead with her back curled against his chest. Her corkscrew curls spilled across his t-shirt, smelling faintly of strawberry. Her eyelashes brushed the hollows below her eyes, her pale face speckled with brown dots. Her lips were full, the planes of her face smooth in the depths of her sleep. He had to admit that she was beautiful.

But that didn't change the fact that he shouldn't be getting himself into this. It screwed up everything that Jace knew. He shouldn't be pining for her love. She should be the one vying for his attention, next to the thousands of other girls that waited in line for their chance just to utter his name. He shouldn't be showing up in her hospital room at the dead of night. She should be tossing rocks at his window like a crazed lover. He thrived on the attention that women gave him, prided himself in the fact that he was completely indifferent to their feelings. Except Clary. He found himself wanting to know everything about the petite girl. He wanted to know her birthday, her favorite pastime, her most listened to song. He relished in every moment she giggled, lost himself in her eyes. What was happening to him?

He was the boy that took the love'em-and-leave'em type girls. He never actually cuddled with a girl, never allowed her to stay the night. He hated keeping up the appearance of teenage love, so he never kept girlfriends for more than a month or two. And he had never, ever been completely exclusive. But Clary, Clary made Jace break all his rules. He'd followed her to the hospital. He'd wrapped her up in his arms and allowed her to just sleep. He'd told her that he wanted to make her his girl. Those few actions violated every restriction Jace had ever created, the restrictions that were used to keep the internal wall that closed him off from the world completely intact.

The clock above the door ticked feverishly, reminding Jace that it was in fact morning, and that he had somewhere very important to be. It was his custom to leave the girl alone when she woke, without so much as a token of what had happened between the two of them. He never kissed the girl goodbye, never left a note. All he left them with was their memories, and that's something that just was. Though each girl had no tangible evidence that something had coincided between them, each had her memories and her own fabricated fantasies to later share with her friends. Jace's homerun tally had become so hefty that he barely knew the truth from the fake.

That made him completely disgusting for setting his sights on Clarissa Fairchild. She was the kind of girl that a boy brought home to meet his parents. She was the one that a man should hold in his arms every single night without a thought of another woman. Jace didn't deserve her, and he figured it was the universe's punishment that made him feel this way about her. His stomach filled with butterflies every time he caught a glimpse of her. His skin felt like it had electricity sparking off the surface every time she touched him. He felt the world drift into oblivion whenever her lips merely brushed his. It was exhilarating and infuriating at the same time. She was the most unattainable woman on the entire campus. She was the most innocent. She was the sweetest. She was the one that it would hurt him to break. He was pulled from his musings when he felt her shift inside the circle of his arms.

"Hey," she mumbled, her head pillowed in her hand with her back still to him. He craned his neck to see her gaze affixed to the spectacular skyline of the eastern horizon. He observed her face, the way her lips curled up evenly in a soft smile, baring her small, white teeth. He noticed that the freckles were heavier on the left side of her face, that her eyebrows furrowed minutely in concentration, and that her green irises sparkled with interest while observing something beautiful.

"Hey," he replied quietly, his voice slightly husky, making him wince. No girl had ever heard his voice after sleep before, and he'd surely believed that none ever would. He hadn't even explained himself to the nurses that accidentally woke him up as they were attending to Clary in the middle of the night. They didn't seem to mind that he was there though, by the flirty smiles and suggestive winks they were giving him. One had even gone so far as to press her chest into his face when leaning over to change the bag that supplied Clary's IV.

He shifted his arm slightly so that Clary could roll over and face him. They were pressed tightly against each other on the small hospital bed, their noses only inches apart. He felt her warm breath against his face, shifting the already messy golden tresses He felt her pulse thrumming heavily against his skin. He felt her cold feet brushing just below his knees. He felt loose curls tickling his face and was relishing in the unusual sensation of it all. Instead of rolling his eyes and shifting away from her, he was welcoming these involuntary motions. Usually when he was in a bed with a girl, she was trying to extract more from him, to get him off. This was different, wonderful in its simplicity. "What are you doing here?" Jace's bubble was shattered. He could imagine the look on his face: open jaw, widening eyes, reddening face. Did she really not remember this conversation last night? Great, she probably thought he was some psycho that got his kicks from women in hospital beds. He stuttered a few words before Clary burst out in laughter. "Just kidding."

He glared at her. "That was horribly rude, Clarissa Fairchild. I am very disappointed in your behavior." She regarded him with a snort, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms. He found himself laughing along with her, watching her watch him. Her gaze flitted around every feature of his face, and he wondered what it was that she saw. Did she see the exterior of him, with the chiseled features and strong jawbone? Did she dip just below the surface and view the conceited, sarcastic forefront that he put out for everyone to see? Or did she plunge right into his soul, breaking through the wall and viewing the broken little boy with a messed up view of the world.

"You're pretty," she said with a laugh, showing Jace she was just playing. He laughed, speculating if this girl always saw the world with a pair of rose-colored glasses. She always looked so happy. He wished he could borrow some of her attitude.

"So I've been told," he replied, trying desperately to grasp the last string of his sarcastic shield. Another snort from Clary and a soft slap on his arm told him he was failing miserably. She was like an explosive! A few hours with this girl and his walls were already crumbling. He pressed his nose to her cheek, wanting to feel and hear her laughter at the same time. This of course made her giggle harder.

"Jace Wayland, don't think that all the worn out tricks that unlock girls' legs for you every day will work on me," she chided, gently pushing his face away. Jace tried to snub out the feeling of rejection pooling in his chest. After her laughter died down, the room fell silent, just the Clary's measured breaths, the beep of her heart rate, and the even ticking of the clock as it kept time. _Time. Crap._ Jace's brain reminded him as he removed Clary from his arms, a chill raising gooseflesh from where her body heat had him warm. She looked up at him quizzically as he fretfully checked the clock, thrusting his fingers into his hair when he saw the time. 7:10 am. He was ten minutes late for practice. He cursed verbally, shooting Clary an apologetic look before searching the room for his sweatshirt.

How could he have been so idiotic to forget something as important as a practice? His father was surely going to have his head, or in retrospect, his chest. The grip on his locks tightened at the thought. He'd never missed a single practice in his lifetime. Whether he was ill or injured, he'd always pushed through to satisfy his stepfather. Now he'd missed one for a girl. Michael Wayland would not be pleased. A throat cleared, pulling Jace's attention back to the pale star of his mind's latest infatuations. She tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, which drowned her small frame in the fabric. He dismissed her with a wave as she went to remove it. "Keep it. I'll come back for it later." Now he was making promises of returning? He shook his head in disbelief. It was like he had two sides now. One was the carbon copy that his father had molded him to be, and the other was the more rebellious, lovesick, brooding young man. It was too much to handle. He strode toward the door, stopping with his hand against the wall when he heard her voice.

"Good luck with your father." It was so low that he wasn't even sure he'd heard her say it. Had he been muttering his troubles aloud this entire time? He looked back and saw her eyes were steadily locked on his. He nodded, giving her a tightlipped smile and exiting the room. He was so out of it, nearly knocking over young nurses as he jogged out of the building toward his car in the parking lot. He chirped the refurbished Camero unlocked, and snatched his cell phone from the cup holder. He had twenty missed calls from his father, and sixteen voicemails, each describing in explicit detail of what he was planning on doing to Jace. The boy threw the car into drive, speeding out of the parking lot and driving the familiar streets that lead to his death bed.

He burst into the locker room, which was empty since practice was already in full swing. Throwing on his equipment haphazardly, he walked onto the field less than ten minutes later. Between the slatted bars of the team's helmets, he could see every pair of eyes on him, watching him as he approached. He hadn't even thought of an excuse yet. He was given a few, subtle head nods, as if his teammates were warning him of the awful mood the coach was sure to be in. He slowly walked past each boy, clad in the same heavy football equipment, each wearing the same expression: pity. Jace squared his shoulders, knowing his father hated when men being penalized retreated to meekness.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Mr. Wayland." The man's voice was calculated but hostile all the same. "Please, tell us, Mr. Wayland. Do you find the hours of practice unreasonable?" Jace thought this through carefully. The wrong answer could put the whole team on the line for suicide runs. He did not want to be the cause of that. He tucked his lip between his teeth as he mulled over his options. Impatient as ever, Michael rushed him forward. "Do you find it unreasonable?" The man's round face was red, and spittle flew from his mouth with the force of his words.

"No, sir," he replied simply, observing the subtle shift of the man's mood. He'd become accustomed to the facial features of this man. The furrowed eyebrow that usually meant confusion or concentration on others meant plotting when set above this man's eyes. If the vein above his right eye throbbed quicker, protruding ever so slightly from beneath the skin, he was furious, and if the dark pits he called eyes became hollow, empty of everything, he was ready to strike. That's the look Jace found his father giving him now. "Then why, pray tell me, did you decide it was acceptable to show up to practice twenty minutes past the scheduled time." There was an underlying threat in the tone of his words, Jace's scars flaring up at the sound. He was in for it. He wished his mind hadn't been so scattered this morning that he could have at least come up with a legitimate excuse.

"I, um," Jace knew that two letter verbal pause had given him a ticket to another scar, so he didn't bother to continue. What excuse did he have anyway? If he claimed he overslept, his father would force him to move back in with him. If he told his father his car broke down, he'd find a bike in the driveway where the car he'd slaved over had once been parked. If he told his father he'd been with a girl, the punishment would have been far more severe than choosing to plead the fifth.

"My office. Now." The man turned on his heel, not even looking back to be positive that Jace was following. He was though, like a little lost puppy. He'd always be following in his father's tracks because even if he veered from the path, the backlash would force him back on. The gravel scattered beneath his cleats. He heard the aglets at the ends of the laces clinking together. He saw the golden streams of the sun reflecting off the morning mists. His senses seemed to be heightened in the moments of anticipation. He heard his father huffing in front of him, the crunch of shoulder pads colliding.

His father disappeared behind the locker room door, and Jace followed to suit, urging the cool metal forward with his palms. His steps echoed off the tiled walls, and his father made no noise. Jace suddenly felt like vulnerable prey as he rounded the corner that lead to his father's inset office. He reared back as Michael's fist connected with his cheek, catching him off balance and throwing him to the ground, his head bashing against the tile. His bleary vision watched the man twirl a switchblade on his fingertips. He had an intrigued look on his face as he leaned down and removed Jace's practice jersey. "Wouldn't want to soil this, now would we?" He grasped it in his fist, inspecting Jace closely, as if scouring him for clues as to where he had been. He watched the dark eyes loom close, his free hand reaching out to pluck something from Jace's shirt.

He twirled the microscopic object in front of him as he dug the tip of the blade into Jace's breastbone. "So, _son_," he spat the name as if it were a curse word, "what's her name?" His face morphed into rage as he dangled the curly red hair in front of Jace's golden eyes.

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><p><em>Sorry for the mistakes and confusion. This is unbeta'd and such and I know it has a lot of angst and internal conflict, if you don't understand something...PM me...I will explain as best as I can. Hope to have an update when I get back! Review please! :)<em>

_~All My Love, BallinBlonde21_


	10. Bonding and Breaking

_Guess who's baaaaaaack! Okay, it's kind of obvious...soooooooooo you know the usual...sorry for the mistakes...I hate rereading my writing (I always feel like it's not good enough :/) Annnnndddddd Chapter ten...whoop! :) haha that's like...halfway there :) sooooo...enjoy, my lovelies! :D_

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><p>Warmth spread through Clary's body as she woke, blinking her eyes against the brilliant sunrise of the eastern horizon. Watercolors of oranges and pinks melted into the red ball of fire that peeped over the buildings and trees, caressing the earth in a warm, sparkling light. She rested her cheek in her hand, aware of the presence behind her, pressed against every curve of her back. There was no space between them. She could feel his every move, his every shift. She felt his heartbeat through the heavy sweatshirt, and she felt her own in her throat, in nervous anticipation of the morning's conversation. She didn't think she could handle it if he rejected her, if he took back everything he said the night before.<p>

He was her painting! The firm muscle behind her was her inspiration! And he'd told her that he wanted her last night. He wouldn't take that back, right? She inhaled slowly, focusing on the rhythmic rise and fall of Jace's chest, memorizing the curve of his elbow, the swell of his biceps. The air smelled of iodine and industrial sanitation products. Footsteps echoed through the halls and wheelchairs squeaked by with early rising patients, but all Clary could think about was the golden sparkles of Jace's irises. His warm breath floated down the collar of Jace's football sweatshirt and flowed across her back, the part left bare by the hospital gown. Her eyelids fluttered at the sensation as an involuntary shiver forcing its way up her spine. The room seemed to still as Jace's arms tightened around her, tugging her closer and removing the miniscule space between their bodies.

Had she woke him? Was he going to leave? She closed her eyes again, horrified by the inclined beeping the machine that monitored her heart. Well if he was awake, he would surely know the effect he had on her. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed the hummingbird in her chest to slow to a normal pace, holding her breath as she waited from him to disappear from beside her. The silence made her mind drift back to his tantalizing kisses, her skin burning along the path that his lips had branded, her lips tingling with the thought of his own pushed against them.

If her memory served correctly, those simple, carefully placed kisses were more delicious than the hasty, drunken make-out session in the hallway. These had been caring, hopeful even, as compared to those that had been full of need and fiery. She liked the slow way he'd slid up her body, making her insides melt with every centimeter of movement. She liked the way he'd snuggled up against her with his nose buried into her hair, the reassuring weight of his arm on slung across her hips. She liked the way his imperfections only added to the raw beauty he possessed, his golden aurora heating Clary's stomach with thousands of butterflies. She sighed audibly, hoping that this really wasn't the end to something that never really began.

She felt Jace's body move slightly, as if he was lifting his head up a little bit. She knew his eyes were on her, electricity sparking wherever his gaze landed against her skin, burning a trail of fire across the features of her face, from her eyelashes to her nose, from her hair to her lips. Fighting against the fear of rejection, she slowly opened her eyes, biting her lips before squeaking a small, "Hey."

She felt the boy behind her draw back slightly, startled by the jaded voice that filled the silent void in the room. She eyed the sunrise intently, trying to shield her emotions for what he would say next, the inevitable _We Had a Great Night_ speech. She plastered a tiny smile on her face and hoped she appeared to be the casual artist appreciating Mother Nature's beauty. Truth be told, she wouldn't have even been able to tell you if the colors were pink and orange or pink and yellow. Her senses were otherwise occupied with trying to will a response out of Jace's perfect lips.

"Hey," he drawled in his sexy, sleepy voice, making Clary's heart swoon that much more. She like the heat that flowed off his body into hers, reassuring her that he was still there. Dismayed, she felt his grip on her loosen, realizing a little too late that he was implying that she face him. She did just that, tipping her chin up to meet his heavy gaze, their noses nearly touching in the tight confines of the hospital bed. Not that she was complaining. _Aw jeez,_ she thought to herself, mentally slapping her inner, corny self, _play it cool, Clarissa Fairchild. _ _Act like you do this thing all the time._

She groped for something sassy to say, something to put that panty-dropping smirk onto his face just so she could say she put it there. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was frightened. _Real smooth, Clary_. Jace's eyes widened, and she punched her inner "cool" self, too. Backtracking, she lifted her lips into what she was hoping represented some kind of smile, though it felt more like a grimace. After a shoving out a few peals of laughter, she managed to take back his embarrassment, "Just kidding."

The weight of his glare seemed to crush her false happiness, until his mouth lifted at the corners, the harshness lifting from his features. "That was horrible rude, Clarissa Fairchild. I am very disappointed in your behavior." Even she was surprised by the unladylike snort that erupted from her throat, but she decided to go with it, rolling onto her back and crossing her arms in front of her chest, attempting to lift the sweatshirt just enough that his scent would wash over her. It worked, filling her nose with axe, sunshine, and something that couldn't be described as anything but Jace Wayland. She relaxed a little and started laughing, relishing in the motion of Jace laughing next to her. She allowed her eyes to drink him in, claiming to herself that it was her artistic side that wanted to memorize the dip of his dimples, the depth of his eyes. She wondered what made this beautiful man so insecure. What made him want to hide his flaws, his scars? Was he scared of the opinions? The rumors? Why did he act like a tornado, sucking females into his clutches then spitting them out on the ground? Was he broken? Was he lonely? Was he bored? She wanted the answers to all these questions, wanted to be able to understand the perfect boy with the slightly chipped tooth and tattooed chest. Realizing she'd been staring at his mouth for awhile, she giggled. "You're pretty."

"So I've been told." The sarcasm that usually laid so heavily on his words barely brushed the surface, and she tapped his bicep, laughing even harder. She was on the verge of hysterics when his nose brushed her cheek, his face nuzzling into her.

She couldn't let him have everything he wanted. That would be easy, and Clary was anything but easy. "Jace Wayland, don't think that all the worn out tricks that unlock girls' legs for you every day will work on me." She filled her tone with playfulness as she gently removed his face from her skin, her heart protesting the whole time. A comfortable silence settled around them, making Clary believe that Jace hadn't actually planned on leaving after all.

That was, until she heard him curse loudly. He apologized with his eyes as he stormed around the room, searching every inch of the disinfected room. His fingers were knotted into his hair, much like the way Clary's had been the night after the party. She frowned slightly at the thought of his glorious, golden locks being abused. He muttered under his breath to himself, most of which Clary couldn't pick up, but when he stopped momentarily to look behind the chair, she heard him, his voice defeated. "My father is going to kill me."

That simple sentence, though voiced by many teens around the world, shattered her heart. To hear someone say it like it was a fact, like there was simply no alternative other than an angry parent. Heat rose to her cheeks with the memory of herself being angry at her parents. She cleared her throat, watching his head snap toward her, his face filled with worry. Silently, she pulled at his sweater, hoping that was the item he was searching frantically for. She made to remove it, but he shook his head. "Keep it. I'll come back for it later." She watched him turn slowly and shuffled toward the door.

"Good luck with your father," she whispered, not entirely sure he heard.

X.O.X.O.X

"Little Red!" boomed a familiar voice from down the hall. Clary sat up in bed, pulling the thin blanket up over her hospital gown. She'd hidden the sweatshirt beneath her legs, not wanting to spark questions about how she'd obtained such a sought after item. Seb's heavy footfalls stomped into the room, rattling the vases of get-well flowers that the nurses had arranged in her room that morning. Besides a constant headache and some drowsiness, Clary didn't feel all that bad. The uncomfortable hospital bed was messing with her back, and her hair was atrocious. She just wanted to go home.

He brother thrust something into her arms, a big smile on his face. Clary cuddled to object in her hands, rolling her eyes at the oversized teddy bear with _I Love You_ written across the tummy. It was something that boyfriends got for their overly preppy girlfriends on Valentine's Day. She hugged it tight to her chest. She loved it anyway. Sebastian threw himself into the chair, the legs bowing beneath his muscular weight. "So, Red, I meant to come yesterday, but the nurses wouldn't let me in, so I slept in the lobby and bought this from the gift shop this morning."

Clary grinned. "It's perfect, Seb." She heard him exhale in relief, rubbing his hands together. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, a five o'clock shadow brandishing his chin and cheeks. Dark hair stuck up in random tufts, signifying that he had in fact slept at the hospital. His lip was split from where he'd been biting it. Clary couldn't help but smile again. He'd been worried about her. She glanced at the time, realizing that his shift at the coffee shop started in ten minutes. She only had about five minutes to tell him the big news. "Guess what, big brother."

He rubbed his chin between his thumb and index finger, humoring the girl in the hospital bed. "What?"

"We're both adopted!" Even in the cheery way she said the fact, the words still stung her like wasps. She bit back tears, watching Seb's face fall. She knew emotions made him uncomfortable, that he really didn't know how to comfort people. That's why she was surprised when he came over and wrapped his arms around her, shushing her gently as the salty drops slipped down her cheeks. His rough hand rubbed circles against his back.

"Look on the bright side, Little Red. Maybe your dad is a famous artist. Or an actor! Maybe your dad is Tom Cruise! He is getting divorced, you know." She laughed through her tears, thankful for her brother's humorous approach to life. The tears slowed to a trickle as he kept making her laugh.

Checking the clock again, she pushed him away, sniffling. "You have to go to work, Seb." Sebastian protested, telling about how he could call in sick or get his buddy to cover for him. "No, Seb, you can't just think about yourself anymore. You have to think about your future with the baby. How are you going to support her if you skip work?" Sebastian frowned.

"You think my child is a girl?" Clary rolled her eyes and nodded, shoving him with her shoulder. He winked at her.

"Me, too." With a kiss on her curls and a promise to return with handfuls of flowers, Sebastian strode from the room as quickly as he'd come, making Clary realize that everybody's lives were continuing on, falling into place as hers was crashing down all over.

X.O.X.O.X

"Ouch, Izzy, stooooooopppp." Isabelle acknowledged Clary's request with another yank of the hairbrush. "Screw you." She could almost see Isabelle's smile. The teeth of the brush ripped through her hair loudly, bouncing off the walls of the white room.

"You're hair is so, so, nest-like! It's like momma robin was preparing to lay her eggs up there!" The brush painfully worked its way through another snarl.

"Thanks, Iz. You're consideration for the injured is much appreciated." Isabelle huffed but gave up with the brush, situating herself at a better angle to pull Clary's hair up into a messy bun. Evening was settling in around New York, and the constant rush of traffic escalated as people got off work. The sun cast thick, dark shadows across the streets, and the sky was painted red. Throwing herself down next to Clary and crossing her ankles in the air, Isabelle flipped through the latest fashion magazine, popping her chewing gum. She'd point out dresses to Clary every so often, gushing about her date to the Homecoming dance. She described him as dark and mysterious with just enough sweetness to make you swoon. Clary didn't have enough heart to tell her about her past with Simon. Seeing her friend so happy kept her silent.

Amidst the fashion suggestions and girl talk, Clary's stomach rumbled in anguish, begging to be fed. "Just eat some food, Clary. Bone-thin isn't pretty." Clary warily eyed down what the hospital passed off as dinner, her nose scrunching in disgust. It was lumpy gray stuff with a side of smooth gray stuff. Yum.

"I'm not touching that. It looks like they swept the rooms, added water, and spooned it onto dishes." Looking up from the glossy pages that displayed models dressed up to the nines, Isabelle nodded in agreement, hoisting herself up off the bed. She grabbed the tray and swiped the globs of nastiness into the trash, being sure to cover it up with paper towels. Isabelle retrieved her magazine, tossing a final smile at Clary.

"I have to go, Clarebear. I have a date with my man," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively as she pulled out a compact mirror and wiped away a smudge of eyeliner. Clary sighed, realizing the sooner this was out, the better she would feel.

"Look, Izzy, I need to tell you something." Isabelle combed her fingers through her hair and made an _mmhm_ noise, prompting Clary to continue. "It's cool that you are dating Simon and all, but—"

Isabelle looked up, a disbelieving look on her face. "You think I'm going out with Simon? Psh, noooooo." She returned to her primping, applying a fresh coat of lipstick to her already crimson lips. "I'm going on a date with Melorn, the foreign guy from work." Clary could hear the attraction in her voice and wanted to vomit. Is this how she would sound if she talked about Jace? She shuddered away from the thought. "He's French and handsome and such a gentleman, well , when he talks. He's really shy. That's why I'm even surprised he asked me out!" She shoved the tube of makeup into her already overflowing purse, smiling at Clary. "Is there anything in my teeth?"

Snorting, Clary shook her head, watching as Isabelle winked at her before elegantly sweeping from the room, puppy love and glitter left in her wake. As the nurse came in for the nightly check up, Clary checked the clock and realized the visiting hours were over. She drew the sweatshirt over herself, overwhelmed by the comforting effect the fabric had. Her parents had tried to see her in between Sebastian and Isabelle, but she again turned them away. She was ashamed of the way she had treated them, but she still didn't think she could handle their lies for awhile.

She settled down into the pile of pillows she'd asked the nurses for, chewing her lip as she thought back to the past few days. A week ago she was a normal college student, excited for her art classes, attending parties, gushing about boys with her best friend, and now here she was, cooped up in a hospital bed, wondering who her real father is, worrying about Sebastian's future, hooked on a boy that never stayed with a girl for longer than it took him to get laid. Oh yeah, she was messed up big time.

Tucking the hospital blanket under her chin, she rolled onto her side, used to the hygienic stench that wafted around the entire hospital. She bit down hard on her cheek, willing away the drowsiness that threatened to overcome her. She had to stay awake until Jace came, had to see him one last time before he undoubtedly crushed her heart.

She memorized the layout of the room, each detailed petal of the flowers, each tick of the clock. She counted the speckles on the floor tiles, loosing track after 224. She let her hair fall free over her shoulders, used to the familiar tickle of her curls. She watched the light fade and the streetlights flicker on. She counted the headlights of cars driving by on the street below, oblivious to the redhead watching them from above. She did anything to distract herself from thoughts of him, of what he was capable of doing.

Finally, while Clary was rearranging the vases, footsteps crept into the room, and the door clicked closed. The person didn't come any closer, and Clary didn't turn to look at him. She finished with her task, finally content with the artistic appeal the new pattern of the flowers had. "Hello, Jace," she said, fingering the silky petals of a rose. There was a rustling, and Clary finally faced him.

The room was shrouded in shadows, only the dull glow from the moon casting light across the boy. His hand was in a paper bag, creating loud crinkling noises that sliced through the night air. She watched his closed fist emerge with a handful of saran-wrapped lumps. "Isabelle said that you weren't eating the hospital food." He held out a few items to her, and Clary tentatively took them from him, her mouth watering. In her hands, she held an apple, a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, and a chocolate bar. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She suppressed the urge to scarf down the food, and as ladylike as she could, ate the food he'd prepared. During the entire process, Jace didn't move from his position just inside the door. Frowning, Clary closed the distance between them, her eyebrows knit together as she tried to focus on his face.

A brilliant purple bruise blossomed across his cheekbone, spreading up to his temple. Dried blood crusted his hair, and soaked through his shirt. How had he gotten through the lobby looking like this? "Jace," she murmured, reaching up to brush back a piece of hair that was plastered to his forehead. Her mouth parted in shock as he cringed away from her touch.

"I'm fine," he said. His voice betrayed his words, cracking as his face squinted in pain. Hurriedly, Clary grabbed a towel from the adjoining bathroom and ran it under warm water. She walked back to him, unperturbed by the intense way he was watching her. She gently wiped the dried blood from his hair, locating the gash in his head and deeming it alright after gingerly washing it out. He moaned a little as she did this, and she whispered an apology. The washcloth came away red, but Clary wasn't disgusted in the least.

She ghosted her thumb over his bruise, gauging his reaction. He didn't flinch. Stretching up on her tiptoes, she brushed her lips against the mark, using only a feather-light amount of pressure. She felt his shudder as she drew back, his eyes open and curious. She kept their gazes locked as her hands ran along the hemline of his shirt. Before he could protest, she lifted it up. A diagonal gash cut across his entire chest, the edges puckered and flaming red. Blood coated his entire abdomen, the inky tattoo hidden beneath the layer of red. "Oh, Jace…" she cried softly, alarmed as he yanked his shirt back down to cover the injury. "No!" she protested, making to pull the shirt up again.

"Shhhh," Jace shushed, "you're going to draw attention." His own hands stilled hers where they were frantically clawing at the edge of the fabric.

"I don't care, Jace. That cut needs to be cleaned properly! It's going to get infected!" She flinched as Jace chuckled darkly. She shot him a questioning gaze, and he smiled without happiness.

"I've dealt with this before, Testarossa. I will be fine." He'd been cut like this before? Left battered and bloody? Obviously he had other scars, but had each cut been this deep? This gruesome?

"Just let me wipe off the blood. You'll feel better." She pouted, and his sigh told her he was going to concede. His fingers released her wrists, and she slid her palms under his shirt, dragging the fabric up with them. She was just as startled by the thick layer of blood as she was the first time, but she did her best to hide her reaction, remembering Jace's fear of other's opinions. She could feel his hooded gaze on her as she raised the washcloth, washing away the crimson until swooping black lines and strips of golden skin reappeared across his chest. She had to return to the bathroom for a new towel halfway through, surprised to find Jace in the exact same position. His only motion was the puff of his chest as he breathed in and out.

When she was finished, she let the rag slip from her fingers, falling into a pile at their feet. Her eyes flashed across the expanse of skin before her. There were so many of them. All different lengths and thicknesses. All different shapes and sizes. Some were red and puckered. Others were thin and white. Letting her instincts take over, she slowly leaned in, placing soft kisses on each scar that marred his chest, enhancing his brooding beauty. She finished with a more firm kiss at the edge of the newest one. Jace had stopped breathing. Sound and motion in Clary's hospital room had seized all together.

She spoke finally, uncomfortable by the weight of his stare. "Jace, who did this to you?" She allowed herself to meet his eyes. They were glazed, bloodshot. Had he been crying? Discreetly, she reached up and smoothed the curls atop her head. They were wet.

A shaky breath fell from his lips. "I can't tell you that," he said finally, his voice low and ominous. "I just can't let them do it to you, too." Her world slowed down as he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She knew this was it. This was him leaving before she even had a chance to figure out what _this_ was. She'd been accepting it before, thinking it unavoidable, but now, now she couldn't let him go. He was an angel with a broken wing. He was pain with perfection. He was Jace, and she wanted every piece of him. As he turned to go, she grabbed his wrist.

"No, Jace. You can't do that. You can't go all 'Edward Cullen' on me. I'm a big girl, Jace. You don't get to decide all by yourself what's good for me and what isn't. I can handle it. Hell, Jace, I just got hit by a _car_, and I'm still standing here. Give me some credit." It was a large speech, one of her longest, and through the entire thing, Jace didn't turn around.

"Some things are bigger than even you, Testarossa." Forget the _Edward Cullen_ bit, Jace was becoming a fortune cookie. Clary slammed her fist into the nearest thing available, which was a chair.

"A lot of things are bigger than me, Jace! I'm like five-foot-two!" This earned her a laugh without humor.

"Five feet and two inches of fire," he mused, still with his back to Clary. "I just want to protect you, Clary. I don't want to see you get hurt." Clary huffed. This kid had taken too many lessons from _Twilight_. He needed to be set straight.

"Well then don't leave me, Jace! I just was pushed in front of a car by a major witch, found out my brother got my worst enemy pregnant, and got told that the man who help raise me is not my father! I don't want to add you to that last, so please, just…stay." Jace turned around now, his face stricken. Had he really not realized so much had happened in a course of two days? She felt hot, sticky tears roll off her cheeks, and she angrily wiped them away as a blush crept up her cheeks. Guys hated emotional girls, and she was nothing but a puddle of sadness. To her surprise, Jace's arms snaked around her, and he tucked her head under his chin. His fingers traced shapes onto her back, and she allowed him to support her. Her labored breathing filled the space between them, and Jace made soothing noises. Her eyelids fluttered shut as she began tumbling headfirst toward the ground, falling for Jace. Was he ready to catch her? She shied away from that thought, focusing on the present. Slowly, she calmed down. The pair settled down next to each other on the compact hospital bed, mimicking their position from the previous night.

"Clary?" Jace inquired, his voice caught in her hair.

"Mmm?" she replied into his chest, careful to nuzzle into a spot that wasn't tender from the cut.

"Who's Edward Cullen?"

* * *

><p><em>Whew! (Wipes sweat from brow) That was a close one! Good thing Clary is one smooth talker ;) hahahaha okay, soooooo review? :)<em>


	11. Cornered

_Wrote this really really really fast...like legitly in an hour and a half...so there are bound to be lots of mistakes...merp...buttttttttttttttttt it's an update :) Annnnnd I'd like to clear up a little...mishap that I caught myself on...I've been switching Jace's last name from Wayland to Herondale and back to Wayland...It's really really really hard to keep this crap straight! :D haha but it's supposed to be Herondale...since Michael Wayland isn't his real father. He just had custody over Jace after his mother died or rather...was murdered. Okay...any-whoooo...read and enjoy :)_

* * *

><p>Not surprisingly, Clary woke up alone in her hospital room, the sheets tangled around her feet where Jace's shins had once been pressed up against her. She sighed contentedly, her cheek sunk deeply into the pillow. She hadn't expected him to be here this morning, what with the way he stormed out so quickly the previous day, but it was an odd sensation to fall asleep with heat radiating through your entire body and then wake shivering cold. She allowed her eyelids to open, confirming the fact that Jace was no longer with her.<p>

In his place sat her giant teddy bear from Seb. Clary reached out and pulled it to her, smiling at the note attached to its paw. The words across the white surface were written in perfect script with a black pen that Jace undoubtedly wooed away from one of the nurses.

_Who's my competition?_ She giggled, wondering if Jace really thought he was competing with her brother. She rolled onto her back and stretched her shoulders, her left one sore from laying on it the entire night. Removing traces of drool from her cheek, she propped herself up into a sitting position, noticing the kindly nurse for the first time. She had light brown hair that was kempt and clean, wrapped tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck. Her face was freckled from the sunshine and laugh-lines creased the corners of her eyes.

Clary nodded in greeting to the woman, who'd often come to check on Clary over the past few days. The printed nametag pinned onto her scrubs reminded Clary that the woman's name was Amatis Graymark. She pulled the sheets up around her sweatshirt-clad body, trying to hide the name stitched across the back. The nurse was too preoccupied with unhooking the wires that connected Clary to the infernal contraptions the hospital called monitors. There was a stinging sensation as the IV needle was removed from beneath her skin, and Clary winced against the pain. "I'm sorry, dear," Amatis apologized kindly, a small smile gracing her dry lips. She looked tired, her blue eyes not seeming to be able to focus on one thing in particular. Clary felt for the woman. She must be working one of those overnight shifts right now.

"Alright, honey," she chirped as soon as Clary had been released from the confinements of cords and wires. She shoved a pile of clothing into the redhead's hands and patted her knee the way older women do. "Here's your clothes. Your discharge papers are all signed. I'll bring up a wheelchair." Clary furrowed her brow.

"I can walk just fine—"

The nurse laughed not unkindly, her eyes crinkling with the size of her smile. "It's a hospital policy that you leave in a wheelchair. Too much liability, I guess." Clary scratched behind her ear, remembering that she hadn't showered in forever. She was suddenly excited to get home.

"Thank you," she whispered as Amatis left the room to give Clary some privacy. After the woman shut the door behind her, Clary rose from the bed, the draft from the open nightgown hitting her right away. She flushed even though no one was in the room to hear her squeal. Seriously, would it be so expensive to just buy something that covered _everything_? She'd never been so excited to wriggle herself into a pair of jeans. Wondering who had brought her clothes since they weren't the ones from the day of the accident, she tugged on her slightly too big t-shirt from her varsity volleyball camp two years ago. After balling up the sweet-smelling sweatshirt, stuck it into her purse, making sure the word _Herondale_ was completely hidden.. She checked her phone for the first time and saw all the missed calls from her family and friends. She sighed and chucked it back into the cloth bag, thinking that she could just reply when she got home. She was missing classes today, and she didn't have any tomorrow since it was Friday, so what was the point?

As she was twisting her hair into a knot at the top of her head, there was a gentle knock at the door. After granting her permission, Clary watched Amatis push a wheelchair into the small room. Unlike everything else in the hospital, the wheelchair was purple, and at this, Clary grinned. "I snagged you the pretty one," Amatis grinned, gesturing for Clary to take a seat. She obliged, allowing the kindly nurse to shuffle along behind her as the wheels of the chair glided silently along the tile. In the harsh lighting of the hospital hallways, Clary saw a smattering of sickly looking patients, walking the halls on wobbly legs with canes and nurses readily at hands. A few, like Clary, were being pushed in the direction of the exit, smiles on their faces at the thought of getting out into the sunshine.

"Alright, Miss Fairchild, you're ride is here." Clary frowned in displeasure. Isabelle was in class. Jace was at practice. Her parents were both at work, and she didn't want them to pick her up anyways. Who was coming to get her today? She fiddled with a loose thread on her jeans. Then it dawned on her. The last time she'd seen these clothes was when she'd left them at Simon's after a night over, going home in a pair of his ratty sweatpants and one of his t-shirts.

"No, no, no, no," she muttered under her breath, seeing the Eric's orange van pulled up to the curb. She mentally cursed. The nurse waved obliviously at the brown-haired boy leaning casually against the passenger door. Clary glared daggers at him, and he flinched, his cool façade faltering.

The nurse clamped the break on the wheelchair, and Simon opened the door obediently. Seeing no other option, Clary slid into the passenger seat as the nurse leaned in. "What a kind boyfriend you have," she said quietly. It sounded almost skeptical. Of course the nurse had seen Jace and Clary cuddled in bed together, and Clary released an unladylike snort.

"He is most definitely _not_ my boyfriend." The nurse pressed her lips in a thin line and shut the door for Clary, hightailing it away from the van with the wheelchair in tow. There was a click as Simon put in his seatbelt into the catch. The van made an angry noise as the engine struggled to turn over. It finally did, but the sputtering and popping did nothing to cover the uncomfortable silence or Clary's thinly veiled distaste. Simon remained silent as he steered the van out of the parking lot and onto the highway, en route to the Institute.

"Clary—" he began, saying her name in such a pleading way that Clary's naturally kind heart almost melted. Almost.

"Save it, Simon. I have no words for you," her reply was short and a bit temperamental for Clary's taste. What had happened to the sweet, caring girl she'd once been? _Life_, she reminded herself, _life happened_.

"Ididn'tcheatonyou," he blurted at the same time, his words and letters tumbling over each other as if he had some sort of speech impediment.

"What? Si, speak English." She rubbed her eyes tiredly, even though only a half hour ago she'd woken up exuberant from her conversation with Jace the night before. Though she was speaking to Simon, she kept her gaze focused outside the passenger window.

"I didn't cheat on you, Clary. I could never, ever do that to you." Clary rolled her eyes comically as her fingers clenched into fists.

"That's exactly what a guilty boyfriend would say, Simon. I heard you moan her _name_! 'Oh, Maia…'" The imitation of his voice was poor, but her point was clear.

"I was playing COD with her _boyfriend_, Clary! I was making fun of him! She wasn't even there! Gosh, do you not trust me at all?" Clary's face heated as she blushed from embarrassment. She really had jumped to conclusions.

"Then why were you at Pandemonium with Isabelle?" Simon furrowed his eyebrows at her next accusation.

"What's a pandemonium, and who's Isabelle?" She rubbed her temples. She'd seen him there. She knew she had? Even though he hadn't been wearing his glasses, she'd seen his hair. She tried to clear the haziness from her memory, the same way as one would focus a blurry camera lens. The fog lifted, and she looked clearly at the guy beneath Isabelle. His jawbone was too strong, his nose to straight. He wasn't scrawny at all like Simon. He really hadn't been there. _Melorn_, Clary thought, remembering the way Isabelle had described her dark knight.

Clary scratched the back of her burning neck. She had only seen what she wanted to. "Look, Clary, before you say anything. I really don't blame you for thinking what you did. Our relationship wasn't very good, and I realize that now. I just, I really miss our friendship. That bond was strong and, God, it hurts so much not being able to text you the new name of our band—Millennium Lint, by the way—or send you funny pictures of my cat," Clary allowed a small giggle to escape her mouth, but Simon's speech continued as if she hadn't made a sound, "I wasn't the best boyfriend out there, and I realize that even though I loved you, you never really loved me—"

"I love you, Si." This earned her a weak smile.

"Not the way I wanted you to, Clary." She offered him a weak shrug, and he smiled.

"Whatdaya say, Freckles," Simon inquired using his old pet name for her, "friends?" She bit her lip shyly before spitting into her hand and sticking it out for the most binding promise of all.

"Best friends."

"This is so gross, Clary," Simon whined, extending his saliva-coated hand for her to grab. She grinned at him and gave it a hardy shake, making sure to lean over and wipe the excess liquid onto his jeans. "Jeez, I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" She bobbed her head up and down excitedly, practically bouncing in her seat. She had her best friend back. She hadn't really realized how much she missed him until she set foot into this car.

"I missed you, Si," she sighed, leaning over to rest her head on her shoulder. Simon shifted carefully so he could turn up the radio without jostling Clary.

"Country? Really, Si?" Clary scrutinized as they caught the last few seconds of a twanging song. She felt his shoulder move as he shrugged and laughed, listening to the voice on the radio.

"Hey! I'm Tiffany, and I love Tim McGraw," a caller said to the radio's deejay. "Can you play 'My Old Friend' for me?" The music started, and Clary zoned out, letting the words flow around her.

_My old friend, I recall_

_The times we had hanging on my wall_

_I wouldn't trade them for gold_

_Cause they laugh and they cry me_

_Somehow sanctify me_

_They're woven in the stories I have told_

_And tell again._

She looked quizzically at Simon, wondering if somehow he'd set this up. He seemed oblivious and aloof as always, squinting behind the lenses of his glasses to read the exit signs. He flipped his blinker on and checked all his mirrors before merging into another lane. He was the same old Simon as he'd been a few weeks ago. He was steady and safe—two of the reasons she'd dated him in the first place, hoping that he wouldn't hurt her. And he hadn't. She'd hurt herself.

_My old friend, I apologize_

_For the years that have passed_

_Since the last time you and I_

_Dusted off those memories_

_But the running and the races_

_The people and the places_

_There's always somewhere else I had to be_

_Time gets slim, my old friend_.

She only momentarily allowed herself to think of what years without Simon and his constant chatter about video games would have been like. It was too dreary, and she as quickly as she thought it, she shoved it away, replacing it with one of her fondest memories of Simon.

_"Clarryyyyyy, what if we get into trouble?" eight-year-old Simon feared, his lip quivering as he looked around to check for peeping eyes. _

_ "Simon, we aren't robbing a bank or anything. Don't you wanna see what it's like?" She wiggled her fingers at him the way little girls do when they are chasing their crushes. Not that Clary had a crush on him. That would have been gross. He was like her brother._

_ "What if I get cooties?" His eyes were as wide as saucers, and his mouth agape in shock._

_ "I _do not_ have cooties, Simon!" Clary screeched, offended. That was the first time that Simon had ever said something mean to her, besides the time he told her that his video games trumped her My Little Ponies. The geeky boy pushed his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose as he stuttered an apology. "Come on, Simon. I'll give you my cookie from my lunch box!" Again, Simon looked around at the other kids on the playground. Each child was too engrossed in their own activities to notice what the two best friends were doing in the middle of the sandbox. _

_ "Deal," he agreed finally, watching Clary spit into her hand and reach out for his._

_ "That's so nasty, Freckles. Can't we just pinkie swear?" Clary rolled her eyes._

_ "Pinkie swears are for kindergarteners, Si. Do you want my cookie or not?" Simon's dark irises rolled toward the sky as he straightened his _Star Wars_ t-shirt. There was a spitting noise as he did as she asked, and their hands shook tightly. Simon looked down at the ground as Clary bit her lip shyly. "Go ahead, Si. Do it." He looked up at his best friend with nervous eyes. His fingers were twitching as he pressed them into the sand on either side of Clary's knees. His face inched closer and closer, his nose touching hers. _

_ "What are you doing?" he asked as Clary took his hands in hers. She sighed as if it were the most idiotic question in the world. _

"_It's what they do in movies, Simon. Yeesh." Simon leaned in and their lips touched for a split second before Clary fell backwards laughing. "That was so icky! Why do adults like it so much?" Simon nodded in agreement with her, though he wasn't laughing. He actually looked kind of sad._

"_Yeah. Gross." His voice sounded flat, but Clary didn't really notice as she spat into the sand._

"_Let's never do that again. Ever!" Clary unclasped their fingers and ran her sleeve across her lips, mock gagging at her best friend. She then stood up abruptly, her fire-engine red pigtails bouncing around with the motion. "Race you to the swings," she yelled over her shoulder as she ran toward the rest of the jungle gym, her pink dress flying wildly behind her._

Her first kiss had been with Simon on the playground. It was the worst experience of her childhood when she was younger, but looking back on it now, it made her smile. She wondered if Simon remembered that. She should have remembered when he'd asked her out. Maybe she wouldn't have had to live without Simon during the worst two weeks of her life.

_Don't know why, don't know why_

_Don't know why, don't know why_

She idly curled her fingers around a loose curl, gnawing at her lower lip vigorously as Simon sped up a little to pass a slow-moving car. Why had she ever risked her friendship to date him? They were best friends. They had all the same interests and like all the same things, but there was no romantic spark between them. And she'd known that! So why did she almost lose him by attempting to reciprocate something she never could? "What are you thinking, Clare-bear? You look a million miles away." Clary dropped the curl that she was tugging straight and it sprung back to its original state, bouncing around annoyingly in front of her eyes. She mumbled a lie about being tired, not really wanting to tell him that she regretted dating him. He wasn't her type. She couldn't stop the flash of gold that spiraled through her mind when she thought of her type of guy. Butterflies tore through her stomach as she mentally got lost in the liquid pools of gold.

_My old friend, this song's for you_

_Cause a few simple verses _

_Was the least that I could do_

_To tell the world that you were here_

_Cause the love and the laughter_

_Will live on long after _

_All of the sadness and the tears._

The song cut off as Simon flipped the key and opened his door. The Institute stood in its sordid glory before them, seeming even darker in the gray light of the cloud covering. He opened the door for Clary and helped her leap down from the tall van. "Are you coming in, Si?" She really wanted to spend some time with him now that they were friends again, but to her dismay, Simon shook his head.

"I would love to, Freckles, but I have to get back to NYU. I have my graphics class tomorrow morning." Clary sighed, but leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

"Call you to get coffee sometime?" she suggested, shutting the orange door to the van. Paint flecked off and fell to the ground like fiery snowflakes. Simon's smile was bright as he nodded, jangling the keys in his hand as he made his way around to the driver's seat once more.

"I really missed you, Clary," he said, his voice melancholy. Clary felt on side of her lips pull up.

"Me, too, Si," she replied, unsure if he heard her over the roar of the departing van's engine. She really had missed him and his stupid cat pictures. She turned on her heal and rummaged through her purse for the key to the Institute, jamming it into the lock and running headlong for the elevator.

She hit the button for the floor that they lived on and listened to the hum as she glided lower and lower into the ground. Finally, a dinging signaled her arrival. She hitched her purse higher onto her shoulder and watched the metal doors part to allow her to exit. Her face dropped as soon as they opened large enough for her to see out.

"Clary," the person greeted, "we need to talk."

* * *

><p><em>Muahahahahahaha who could it be? ;) The song is "My Old Friend" by Tim McGraw...and before you say anything, yes, I know it's about someone who died, but hey...it works, okay? :D Annnnd I love country...don't judge me...I'm from a hicktown :P Anyways...I do enjoy being mean and leaving you with Cliffies, butttt depending on the LOVE (or hate, you know, whatever floats you boat) I get for this chapter...I will write faster :) And the next chapter will have Jace in it *Waggles eyebrows suggestively* sooo I suggest you push that little review button and help me help you ;) <em>

_All My Love, Lovelies_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	12. The Truth Hurts

_WARNING: Drama hehe I like my drama! :D oh and…yeah um…this is a 7,300 word chapter…so…yeah…my longest chapter EVER…you might want to read this in two goes…you know…take a break in between…don't strain your eyes…Ah forget it…Read how you like…I'm not your mom Okay so anyways…as you know my A/N's aren't very informative and such…blah-bidy blah blah, but I'd like to reiterate (big word…proud of me?) the fact that I have accidentally been switching Jace's last name back and forth. It's supposed to be HERONDALE! Got it? M'kay? YAY! Okay..so here you go…read in whatever way you wish…enjoy…:D_

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><p>Cautiously, Clary stepped out of the elevator, her eyes dancing between the three people that stood before her. Her gaze lingered on the tall, dark-haired boy with a dozen roses clamped between his hands. "I promised to return with handfuls of flowers—" he began, but Clary's glare shut him up immediately.<p>

"Why did you bring him here? To lure me into being nice to you? Because it is not working." She stole another glance at her brother to stop herself from spouting more angry comments at her parents. He was dressed in a pair of light-washed jeans and a loose-fitting, white t-shirt, a switch-up from his usual dark attire. His hair was slightly rumpled, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. He even had a zit on his forehead. Clary's heart softened a little. He was under a lot of stress, and her rudeness wasn't helping. She hoped he caught the apologetic look on her face before she wiped it off to return her gaze to the red-haired woman and simple-looking man.

"No, we brought Sebastian with because he's just as in the dark as you are." Surprising to Clary, it was not her mother's voice that answered her hateful questions, but Luke's calming, matter-of-fact tone. Her eyes swept over him. He looked worse than Sebastian did. His balding head lacked the gleaming shine it usually possessed. Frown lines were evident on his forehead, and his eyes were nearly engulfed by circles of purple from sleepless nights. His plaid-flannel shirt was off two buttons and hung in two, uneven tails at the bottom. His flip flops didn't match, and there was a considerable amount of stubble adorning his usually soft face.

"Fine," she growled, stomping past them toward the living room. She was glad that the other residents of the Institute had classes today because she didn't really feel like broadcasting her entire situation to the rest of the world. Though Isabelle was a sweetheart and one of Clary's closest friends, it was a well-known fact that gossiping was nearly her best sport, second only to volleyball. She threw herself down onto a mismatched chair, her legs bouncing up and down in anticipation.

Sebastian sat down in the seat next to her, and again attempted to extend the flowers her way. Clary smiled sullenly and accepted them, dropping them into a glass of water conveniently left behind by one of her friends. He nodded his head slightly and squeezed her knee in a comforting way before clasping his hands in his lap. Jocelyn and Luke shuffled in only a moment later, sitting down beside each other. Clary finally allowed herself to risk a glance at her mother.

Of the three, she was the most disheveled. Her usually volumized, auburn hair hung limply down her back, the ends tangled and knotted as if she hadn't bothered to brush them in days. Full moons of purple surrounded her bloodshot eyes, and her usually pale skin had taken on a sickly pallor. She'd switched her usual fancy dresses for a pair of jeans, flats, and a fitted blouse, which was a long stretch for Jocelyn Fairchild, since she always believed that she could meet one of her next clients on the street. She wasn't even wearing any makeup or jewelry. Clary averted her eyes before the sympathetic flower that had taken root in her stomach could blossom into something bigger. "So talk," she demanded, mouth pressed into a thin, white line. Clary heard her mother suck in a shocked breath but felt no resentment for her curtness. Her mother didn't deserve gentle right now. Not after lying to her about her _entire existence_.

"Clary, baby, you have to—" Jocelyn's voice faded as Clary shook her head, escaped curls flying wildly around, smacking Sebastian in the face. He swatted them away, but was wise enough to not say anything.

"No, Jocelyn," she said her mother's name like it was a curse word, eliciting a flinch from the woman on the couch. "My name is Clarissa." She'd never told someone that they couldn't call her Clary, but for some reason, her mother saying her nickname was like a knife in the chest. Her nickname wasn't her real name, and right now, she needed real. She need the truth so she could weed out the falsity and lies from her life. Right now to her mother, she was Clarissa.

Clary watched her mother's eyes drop to the carpet, but Clary's unwavering gaze remained on the woman's face, her nostrils flared in impatience. Luke leaned in to murmur something in Jocelyn's ear, and Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in the silence. Finally, her mother's green eyes met her own, a mirror reflection of each other. Clary had always thought she understood why she didn't look anything like Luke. She was a spitting image of her mother. From her fire-red hair to the freckles on her kneecaps, Clary and Jocelyn were the same. Well, except for one personality difference. Clary was a terrible liar. "Clarissa," she amended, wringing her hands together in front of her. The pause was drawn out longer than Clary would have liked, and soon she began to wonder whether her mother intended to speak the truth or weave more lies. "Your father—Valentine—and I, well we married when we were young. No more than a month after graduation day was I walking down the aisle toward the man who I had believed was the man of my dreams." My mother tipped her head back so that her mouth was at Luke's ear. Clary saw her lips moving and heard the soft whisper of her voice, but the words were too quiet for her ears. Luke leaned his head down and replied something that was even quieter, borderline silent. As Clary glanced between the two during their exchange, a curl brushed against her cheek, and she agitatedly shoved it behind her ear, huffing loudly. The pair separated, and Jocelyn settled back against the couch.

"Like I was saying, I _believed_ he was the man of my dreams. He was handsome and came from a wealthy family. He made me feel like a princess, and all those qualities made me brush aside the fact that something was off, that something was missing." She sniffled, and Clary noticed for the first time that her mother's eyes glistened with unshed tears. Clary discreetly shook her head to rid herself of the growing sympathetic feeling that threatened to encompass her anger.

"About four years into the marriage, when you were barely even a year old, I realized that Valentine and I just didn't have the spark that was shared between true lovers. We never went out anymore. For the first year and a half, he had kissed me goodbye every day, but after our second anniversary, he barely told me he was leaving. I was going crazy. I felt trapped and alone, and I just, I didn't know what to do." A shiny tear rolled down her cheek, and her pale hand flew up to hastily wipe it away.

"Finally, I had enough. I told your father that I was leaving and that I was taking you with me. He, um, he exploded. He beat me until I was unconscious. And then he took my babies away." Clary's mouth parted in shock. Her mother was naturally kind, but when it came down to it, she could hold her own. Clary had often witnessed her protective mama-bear side. She wondered if it had come from that experience, when her father had taken away her—_wait_.

"Babies?" Clary piped up tentatively, seeing her mother's face already wet with tears. Luke's hand was around her shoulders, massaging her upper arm as she nodded. A tearstained but prideful smile broke across her face.

"You had a brother, Clary." Clary no longer had the energy to correct her mother for using her nickname. "A real, honest-to-goodness brother." Clary felt Sebastian stiffen beside her and bumped her arm against him in a way that said _You're my honest-to-goodness brother, too_. She blinked as Jocelyn rifled through a box that Clary hadn't realized she'd been holding. She gingerly cradled a lock of white-blond hair between her fingertips, eyeing it with the love only a mother could possess. "His name was Jonathon Christopher Morgenstern."

_Morgenstern_. Clary balanced her elbows on her thighs and leaned forward, scrubbing her hands over her face to try to clear her mind. Did that make her Clarissa Hope Morgenstern? Why did all of her college applications say Clarissa Fairchild? Had her mother changed her name? A shaky breath fell from Jocelyn's lips before she continued. "Luke was my best friend at the time, much like the bond shared between you and Simon, and he found me bloody on the floor. He nursed me back to health while conducting search parties for the two of you. A month later, you were found in the back of an abandoned warehouse. Valentine was gone, and when we found you, you were starved and nearly dead." She stopped, and Clary had scooted closer to her, sitting precariously on the edge of her seat.

"And Jonathon…?" she prompted, her knee bouncing up and down again.

A ragged sob escaped her mother's lips. "He was never found, but with the amount of blood on the site, he was presumed dead. Your father killed him." Clary's leg froze, and her breathing stopped. Her father killed her brother and left her for dead? "You were terribly injured, Clary. You were only a baby, and he hurt you! That scar on your shoulder was given to you by him. The police consider it his Mark."

Clary's jaw clenched. "You told me that scar was from me backing into an old, dented pole that stuck out from the rundown barn at Luke's." That was yet another lie that Clary could toss in the trash. She'd unknowingly lied to all of those kids that asked her about the ugly, star-shaped wound on her left shoulder blade. Maybe she was a better liar than she'd pegged herself for.

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't want you to know any of the truth. He's still out there Clary. The police have never caught him. There have been scares. He's nearly caught us before, and I thought keeping you in the dark was the best way to protect you."

Clary knotted her fingers into her hair as Sebastian released a low whistle. She ignored him. "Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me that for all these years, my murderous father that is not Luke has been chasing us and trying to kill us?! And you _never_ felt that I needed to know these things?!"

"It was better that you didn't live in fear. We were perfectly fine. Luke has been protecting us from Valentine for seventeen years. He's well trained to protect people."

"LUKE IS A FARMER!" Clary screamed, her face beet red. Spittle flew from her mouth with the shout, and she couldn't find it in herself to be embarrassed by it. Jocelyn opened her mouth to speak, but Luke raised his hand toward her.

"I've got this, honey," he said, then turned toward me. "I am Agent Lucas Garroway. I work for a secret, underground service that protects innocent families from loose criminals. Your mother and I have been friends since high school, and then seventeen years ago, when everything happened, I came clean about my actual occupation and offered her the services of my place of employment." His gaze on me remained even as I looked around in disbelief.

"All, all those summers at your parent's farm?" Luke smiled slightly.

"That really was my parent's farm." At least that was the truth, though all she had known about Luke back then was the fabrication of his backstory.

"Your marriage to my mother?!"

"I really do love your mother Clary. Our marriage is legalized and real."

"You took her last name?" Clary couldn't help the venom in her voice. "Pansy."

"It was safer that way…to hide both of our identities."

"Whatever. What about your bookshop?" Clary asked, wondering why he'd bothered to work there if he had such a good job.

"A cover up," he replied instantly. Clary shook my head, remembering how many hours she had spent curled up in the threadbare chairs of the bookstore with a worn copy of a classic in her hands, pages dog-eared from her many times reading them. All lies.

"Maybe it would be simpler to tell me what in my life isn't a lie." She looked pointedly at the two of them, urging them to tell her that most of her life was the truth. Her heart fell when they didn't.

"The love we both share for you isn't a lie," Jocelyn said, reaching out to grab her daughter's hand. Clary let her. She was too numb on the inside to feel anything anyway.

"Is, is my name even Clarissa Fairchild?" She silently prayed for a yes, feeling her mother's hand leave hers to wipe it across the dark jeans she was wearing.

"Yes," Jocelyn said, but it was in one of those tones where you know that a _but_ was about to follow. Her mother didn't disappoint. "But that's only your legal name. Luke suggested I change it when we went into hiding, so I gave you the name that I had wanted to give you all along. But your birth name is not Clarissa Fairchild. Obviously your last name had been Morgenstern, but your first name wasn't Clarissa either. Your father had forced me to name you after his mother, persuading me with that sickening skill he possessed. Legally, you are my Clary Fairchild, but up until you were about sixteen months old, you were Seraphina Morgenstern." Clary's hand's clenched into fists, or were they Seraphina's hands? God, even her _name_ was a lie. She squeezed her eyes shut, surprised when Sebastian finally piped up.

"How do I fit into this?" She cracked her eyelids to see her brother staring quizzically at the liars positioned across from us. Clary followed his gaze, but immediately regretted it when she saw my mother looking intently at her.

It was Luke who answered her brother's question. "Legally, you are our son, even though you had decided to keep your surname as Verlac. Though our motives were not just wanting another child. You, Sebastian, were also a target of Valentine. Right after Valentine ran away, your parents were murdered, each of their shoulders adorned with the star-shaped scar, and we feared that you were next. We searched high and low for your location, but your records had been lost within the foster system. Finally, when you were eleven, we found you by pure chance and took you in. We believe that Valentine's motive for hurting your family was because they had everything he ever wanted. They were together. They were perfect, and you were the same age as his daughter. We believe that was what triggered his aggression."

"My age?!" Sebastian yelled, his booming voice echoing off the walls. "I went ten years without a family because I happened to be born the same year as Clary?!" He dropped his face into his hands, and Clary could see his shoulders shaking. Clary's teeth clamped down on her lower lip. She was the reason that Sebastian didn't have any real parents. She was the reason for all of his pain.

"Technically, you had family. We recently made connections through family trees that indicate that you are a close cousin of the youngest generation of the Lightwoods. You are the cousins of Isabelle and Alec." Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. All this time he just thought his parents had died in a break-in gone wrong, but now he had been told that they were killed by none other than Clary's father because he reminded Valentine of Clary. Clary felt her own build up of tears.

"I just…I'm just gonna…" he didn't even finish the sentence before walking out of the room, muttering incoherent phrases to himself. Clary watched his retreating figure until she couldn't see him any longer. Her eyes traveled about the room, landing on everything except her parents.

"Clary, listen," her mother's voice was pleading, and Clary made no move to respond to her request. After a few moments of quiet, Jocelyn sighed, picking up where she left off, "I couldn't tell you because it was too dangerous. You have to believe me!" Clary heard her mother break down into sobs after her last sentence, but Clary just stared blankly into the distance.

"I don't know what to believe anymore, Mother," and with that last, truthful sentence, Clary fled the room. She followed the familiar path to her bedroom and flung herself down onto her bed. She didn't have anything left to give. Her tears were dried up, and her head was aching. Her limbs felt like Jell-O, and her heart thumped heavily in her chest. She didn't know what her mother was expecting from her. Was she expecting instant forgiveness? Because Clary's entire life was just proved to be fake. She was faker than those girls she called Barbies. Her name wasn't even Clary! She cringed as she thought of a life being named Seraphina.

She had a deceased brother, a murderous father, an angry adopted brother, and liars for parents. The role models in her life all turned out to be phonies. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and curled up into a ball. Facts of falsity and reality rushed through her mind like cars on the freeway, each one going by so fast that she had no idea what was true and what wasn't. It was a mess, just like her life.

She needed to clear her mind. She needed an out, needed an escape. Her first thought was art. She was itching to pick up a pencil and paper, to watch something flow off the sharpened graphite and bloom into a brilliant sketch, but the thought of art repulsed her, reminding her of the mother that she'd left weeping in the living room. She dragged her arm across her face, removing the tears and snot from her earlier crying and walked numbly to her door.

After checking to make sure her parents weren't there, she walked through the labyrinth of hallways, counting doors and light fixtures until she believed she'd found the right room. She pushed it open and stopped in awe. The room was just as Izzy had described it to her. It was all white, with white granite flooring and painted white walls. A big window opened up the room to a full view of the blue, cloudless sky with green grass swaying in the gentle breeze. Clary pondered for a moment whether the Institute sat on a hill and that allowed for some rooms on one level to be underground and others to be above. She bit her lip and pushed that aside. Thinking was not going to help her right now. She gazed upon the gleaming beauty that sat in the center of the room, the only thing that was in the room to be exact.

The gleaming white grand piano sparkled gold in the sunlight that filtered through the room. Clary had recently changed her favorite color to gold, for obvious reasons, though she would never, ever admit that to Jace. She crossed the threshold and carefully closed the door behind her. She slid onto the padded bench and slid her fingertips across the smooth surface. The ivory and ebony keys were familiar under her fingertips, though she hadn't played since coming to St. Xavier's. She closed her eyes, searching for a tune or a melody that she'd heard recently.

Art was by far her passion, but playing the piano was a pastime that calmed her. It evoked emotions that sometimes her art couldn't even do. She loved the way the music seemed to swirl around the room, loved the way that people who didn't really understand or appreciate music they way they should would light up at the sound of a song. If you weren't an art person, you really didn't pay attention to the underlying beauty of a painting. At least with music, you could always hear the gloriousness through the song.

She pressed down on the keys, and her fingers began to move freely as if having a mind of their own. She felt a small smile grace her lips, but she kept her eyes closed. She knew where ever note was. She didn't need sight. She hit the last note of the intro and drew in a breath to sing, excited that she knew how to play this song.

_I can be selfish._

_Yeah, so impatient._

_Sometimes I feel like Marilyn Monroe._

_I'm insecure, yeah, I make mistakes._

_Sometimes I feel like I'm at the end of the road._

Clary didn't believe herself to be much of a singer, but others always complimented her voice and asked her to sing more. She didn't really open up in front of people she wasn't close to, and usually kept her singing for when she was alone. But right now, her eyes were closed, and she didn't care if she had an audience. Her lips formed the words, and she understood their meaning more than she ever had before. The end of the road never felt as close as it did now. It seemed to be looming just in front of her, and she felt like she was zooming toward it, faster than she ever believed she would. She gritted her teeth against the wave of sadness that washed over her and kept singing.

_I can get low, I can get low._

_Don't know which way is up._

_Yeah I can get high, I can get high._

_Like I could never come down._

Right now, Clary felt like she was just hanging in space. She didn't know which direction was which way. She didn't know if she was floating up or falling down. She didn't know if she was upright or upside down. She didn't know where she was going, didn't remember how she got there. She felt lost, and right now, she felt alone. Sebastian had stormed out with disgust in his eyes. Even Clary was angry with the lies. How would all of her friends react when she told them the truth? Would they call her a liar? Would they turn their backs on her? Would she be even more alone?

_Call it a curse,_

_Or just call me blessed._

_If you can't handle my worst,_

_You ain't getting my best._

_Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt?_

_Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt._

Clary frowned, listening to herself sing the lyrics. Is that what would happen if they didn't accept the fact that she'd unknowingly lied to all of them? Would they tell her that she was being silly, that they didn't believe her? Would she be able to turn away from them if they couldn't deal with this new bout of pain that was sparked by her parent's confessions? Her fingers continued to glide easily across the pristine keys of the piano, and the blackness provided by her eyelids was oddly comforting as the music enveloped her.

_It's like all the good things,_

_They fall apart like…_

_Like Marilyn Monroe._

This song seemed to be taking lyrics from the recent events in Clary's life. Her perfect life had crumbled into fractured bits of mendacity and certainty. Everything fell apart, and right now, Clary had nothing to go by to put the pieces together. She was a puzzle with no picture. She didn't even know what pieces were missing. It was like trying to collect spilled sand and put it back exactly how it had previously been. It was like breaking a window then attempting to tape the millions of pieces back together, and even if she could somehow superglue her life back together, she knew there would always be visible cracks in the surface. And like the way sun filters oddly through fractured glass, she'd see herself and others differently, like the distorted reflection in a broken mirror. She'd always be broken, that much she knew. She just wondered how unbroken she could become.

_Truth is we mess up_

_Till we get it right._

_I don't wanna end up losing my soul._

Who's soul was it, though? Was it Seraphina's? Daughter of Valentine and Jocelyn Morgenstern? Was it Clarissa Fairchild's? Artist and skilled volleyball player? She paused for a moment to push a stray curl behind her ear. Had she already lost her soul? She couldn't have. Otherwise she'd be a zombie. She still knew it was in there, but she no longer knew who she was, who she was meant to be. And that frightened Clary.

_I can get low, I can get low,_

_Don't know which way is up.  
>Yeah, I can get high, I can get high,<em>

_Like I could never come down_.

How was she supposed to understand these things? Was she just supposed to be able to comprehend that she was never who she thought she was? That her father killed her actual brother and wanted to kill her adopted brother? That Luke wasn't a bookshop owner, that the scar on her shoulder was given to her by her father?

_Call it a curse,_

_Or just call me blessed.  
>If you can't handle my worst,<em>

_You ain't getting my best._

_Is this how Marilyn, Monroe felt, felt, felt, flet?_

_Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt._

Clary sighed. She wasn't even sure she could handle herself right now. She was so negative. What happened to Cheery Clary, the girl that was positive about everything? Oh yeah, she was replaced with Sullen Seraphina. God, Clary couldn't even think of that as her name, so she was a little bit glad that her mother had legally changed it. She was still mad that her mother never had told her she wasn't born as Clarissa Hope.

_Take me or leave me._

_I'll never be perfect._

_Believe me, I'm worth it._

_So take me or leave me._

_So take me or leave me_

That's what it came down to now. Two options. Take her or leave her. Check the box that corresponds with your desire, and that's it. Period. End of subject. If they couldn't take everything that Clary came with now, they'd just have to leave her. They couldn't want to be her friend and then not accept the secrets of her past, the ones so secret that even she hadn't known. She focused on the red veins on the back of her eyelids before she let the tears fall. She realized that she could lose friends over this, close friends at that. They'd always thought Clary's father was a quiet bookshop owner, not an on-the-run known murderer. What if they thought Clary knew all along? What if they thought that Clary was helping her father? She didn't even know what he looked like! The song sped up slightly with Clary's aggravation.

_Call it a curse,_

_Or just call me blessed._

_If you can't handle my worst,_

_You ain't getting my best._

_Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt?_

_Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt._

Nobody deserved her if they couldn't accept all of her. If they couldn't come to terms with everything that had just happened. She shook her head. Did she really even have to tell them? She felt her heart swell when she realized the answer was yes. She was never good at keeping her pain to herself, and never good at lying that nothing was wrong. Everybody always saw through her feeble attempts and jumped her right away. She wasn't good at withholding information about herself. Though she knew she could keep other's secrets, she was always leaking her own.

_Is this how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt?_

_Must be how Marilyn Monroe felt, felt, felt, felt._

Upon finishing her solo, she gently closed the piano's lid, folding her arms and resting her head against it. She felt the traitor tears return and roll down her cheeks, dampening the perfect wood of the piano. It was silent in the room, so her sniffles echoed loudly with the good acoustics. She probably looked like crap with her loose bun and dirty jeans. Her t-shirt had holes for years of wear-and-tear, and the skin of her face was red and tight with the tears streaming from her bloodshot eyes.

A sudden pressure on her shoulder made her jump, her heart leaping into her throat. She turned around and met irises painted her favorite color. "J-Jace," she stuttered, blinking rapidly against the onslaught of emotion that had just stormed through her, "I didn't see you come in." A small smirk decorated his perfect mouth as he stroked a tear from Clary's cheekbone.

"Didn't Isabelle tell you that this was my favorite spot to hang out?" his voice was soft, not a hint of sarcasm or accusation. Clary shook her head back and forth, more hair falling from her bun and around her face. She watched Jace as he crouched in front of her, now staring eye-to-eye with her as he reached around and untangled the rubber band from her fiery locks. "Much better," he murmured, watching her curls spring to full volume against her shoulders and back. Clary felt a heated blush rising to her cheeks, but didn't bother to duck, knowing that her face was already as red as it could possibly get.

"Clary, what were you singing?" he gestured to the piano with tanned hand, and Clary's eyes were locked on them. She remembered what they felt like as they held her, how comforted she'd been when they slid into her hair as Jace's lips whispered across her own.

"Just some song…" she replied, trying to dismiss the subject with a wave of her hand. Jace shook his head, sitting down on the bench with her so that his fingers were hovering just above the keys. She watched in awe as they mimicked the melody she'd been playing moments earlier. Jace was a piano player?

"It was not just some song, Clary. It was beautiful." He ducked his head and played some more notes, no hesitation in the way his fingers moved across the instrument. His motions were fluid, precise. His hands showed no sign of confusion, no sign of slowing. The music he created was flawless, probably much better than Clary's choppy playing. She watched him sway with the tune, memorized.

"It's…It's called 'Marilyn Monroe' by Nicki Minaj." Her voice was hushed, as if the mere sound of her talking would taint the glorious sound dancing around her. Then, when Jace's voice sang the one verse that had haunted her the most. The sound of his singing was nothing like Clary had ever experienced. It was lower than what the song called for, yet right on key. It was smooth like honey and warm like a security blanket. Clary believed that his voice probably could move someone to tears, just by the way Clary was sniffling at the amount of emotion he threw into one verse.

_So take me or leave me._

_I'll never be perfect._

_Believe me I'm worth it._

_So take me or leave me._

The music created by Jace stopped abruptly, and Clary felt his hands framing her face. Jace's eyes were a blazing amber of passion, his mouth parted as he stared at her lips. "Clary," he whispered, pressing his lips against the hollow of her throat so that his words hummed against her skin. He placed openmouthed kisses up her neck, across her jaw line, on her earlobe. "I'll take you."

He ducked back down and brought their mouths together, sliding his tongue across her lower lip, begging for access. Clary pressed her lips together and pushed him away, another round of tears stinging her eyes. He looked startled by her rejection, as evidenced by the furrow of his brow and odd gaze in her direction. "Jace…If you knew everything about me…you wouldn't say that." Jace clasped her hands and drew her against his chest, despite her protests and weak punches. She hated that she was crying again. She never, ever cried. Now she was crying all the time. It was horrifying!

"Clary, if you knew everything about me, you'd probably run screaming in the other direction," she felt him chuckle at himself, but she didn't feel like laughing alone, knowing that if she told him all that she'd recently learned, the situation would be likewise.

"No, Jace, you don't understand—" Clary nearly fell forward as he stood up. She watched him stride across the room and flip the lock on the door. She rubbed her eyes as he stripped off the loose-fitting t-shirt he wore, so that he was standing there, bare-chested in a pair of dark-washed jeans.

"You see these scars, Clary? All of them?" He spun around so that she could get the full effect of the brutality Jace had suffered. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she nodded. "You, Clary, are the only one who has ever seen all of them. Some people get a glimpse of one here and there, and they freak out. But you, Clary…you have seen every single slice of imperfection on my body, and you weren't repulsed. You weren't afraid. You stood there and cleaned this one," he traced his thumb across the puckered scar that slashed across his chest. She noticed the subtle wince as his finger came in contact with it. The scar still hurt him. "You kissed all of them. You kissed the mangled skin of my back. The first scar on my shoulder. You weren't afraid of what had happened in my past, and you sit there and expect me to be afraid of yours?"

Clary paled and slapped away more of the sadness on her cheeks. "Jace, I don't know about your past, but what I just learned about mine…it's horrible Jace." Jace's face softened immediately, and He pulled Clary up off the bench, tucking her head under her chin and rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"I don't doubt that it is, Testarossa. I'm just telling you that you were strong for me, and now it's my turn to be strong for you." She clung to him and finally allowed herself to bawl, fisting her hands into his t-shirt and burying her head into his shoulder. After awhile, she felt Jace lean down and puck her up, bridal-style. She didn't look up as he carried her through the confusing maze of hallways she called home. She didn't even open her eyes until Jace settled her onto a soft, cushiony bed.

Wiping her eyes and sniffing, she looked around in confusion. The room was pristine, like OCD clean. The books were meticulously organized alphabetically. No clothes were littered on the floor, and the bed had been made perfectly until Clary's body weight had rumpled it. She looked up at Jace who was shaking out his t-shirt and making to pull it back over his head. "No," Clary murmured, snatching it away and snuggling up against it. "Leave it off."

"Why?" Jace whined, his hands twitching toward his scars as if he wanted to cover them.

"Because that's what I like most about you." She even surprised herself with those words, but Jace just plastered his signature, cocky smirk onto his face.

"You only like me for my sexy abs?" He flexed a little bit, and Clary giggled, hugging the t-shirt tighter to her chest. It smelled like Jace. Like happiness and sunshine. "Alright, at least let me take the place of the shirt." He pried the material from her grip and threw it comically across the room, laughing when it hung on the doorknob. "Jeez I have good aim," he mumbled, taking Clary into his arms and burrowing his face into her hair. Clary sniffled again, but slapped his arm playfully.

"Jace?" Her voice was so small that Clary barely heard it herself.

"Mmmm?" She snuggled up closer to him, sliding her fingers along the waistband of his jeans.

"Can we just not talk about it tonight?" She felt him plant a kiss atop her curls.

"Let's just forget about the heavy," he agreed, his arms moving so that he could lace there hands together. "Let's just talk." And they did.

.

.

.

"Wait, wait, wait," Clary said between fits of laughter. "You mean to tell me that you bathed in spaghetti noodles for your birthday?" Jace looked at her like she was the one who was crazy.

"Isn't that what every eight-year-old boy wants?" Clary cracked up again.

"Why…didn't you…just ask for…a puppy?"

"Noodles everywhere seemed like more fun at the time. Plus who gets to say they got to eat their bathwater." Clary rolled her eyes.

"You're hopeless."

.

.

.

"What? How could you _not_ like the Harry Potter series?" Clary's shocked words matched the wide-eyed expression on her face.

"Clary, those movies are so unrealistic. The guy has nerd glasses, and he's _popular_! That just doesn't happen in real life." Clary's mouth fell open, and Jace made a comment about her catching flies.

"Jace! The movie is about magical wizards and flying brooms, and you think the high school social scale is unrealistic?!"

"Yeah, I mean, that kid has no muscle-tone, limp brown hair, and pasty-white skin—"

"Jace, I have pasty-white skin." Jace continued as if she hadn't spoken. He probably hadn't even heard her around that big ego of his.

"—AND he dates a ginger!" Jace blinked. "Not you, ginger…you know the bad ginger…like with no souls and stuff…heh heh." Clary rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore this comment as he continued to laugh awkwardly.

.

.

.

"You like that twangy, dog, shotgun, and pickup truck crap?" Clary asked around a mouthful of sandwich that Jace had made quickly in the kitchen. Jace grinned.

"Yes, Clary, I find country music to be very relaxing. _Country girl shake it for me, girl. Shake it for me_," he began singing. Clary clamped her hand over his mouth, squealing.

"Shut up, Jace, just shut up!" Jace waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"If I shut up will you shake it for—" She moved her hand from his face and shook her head.

"Nope, you're still talking." His face fell.

"Damn."

.

.

.

Clary's head was resting in the crook of Jace's shoulder, and his arm was thrown over her waist. Their noses bumped against each other when they laughed, and Clary laughed more than she had in a long time. "What's your favorite color, Jace?"

Automatically, Jace replied, "Red." Clary inclined her head so she could see his eyes. He was looking down at her with a smile on his face.

"Why?" He bit his lip in the sexy way only guys can, and glanced away momentarily.

"I don't know if I can tell you that." Clary huffed, seeing that Jace was just playing with her to see if he could get a rile out of her.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeease," she begged, batting her eyelashes. Jace shook his head, rolling his eyes and mouthing _Weak_. She frowned, looking up at the ceiling to thing.

Smirking, she shoved him so he was flat on his back. She crawled on top of him, her palms flat against his chest. He looked up at her through hooded eyes. "What are you—" Clary silenced him with a finger to his lips. She traced the hard planes of his abdominal muscles, slowly working her index finger lower and lower. She reached the waistband of his pants and traced along it, watching Jace's eyes bulge. She pressed her lips against his chest. "Is it because it's the color of a sports car?" She felt rather than saw him shake his head, so she kissed his abs. "Is it because it's the color of sexy high heels." Another head shake. She dipped her tongue into his belly button and felt him shudder. "Is it the color of your favorite pair of shoes." Wrong again. She sat up, making sure to shift so that he was in a painful position. Yeah, she knew how to work this guy. She leaned over so that their lips were almost touching. "Tell me," she demanded, snapping the elastic of his black boxers. She could feel him cracking beneath her.

"It's…It's the color of your hair." Satisfied, Clary rolled off of him, laughing.

"Pshh, and they call you a football player. That was so easy, Jace Herondale. Putty in my hands." She saw Jace glance down at her nimble, artistic fingers. "My very, very skilled hands…" she added seductively. The effect was lost when she busted out laughing at Jace's awed expression.

Clearing his throat, Jace said, "So, Testarossa, what's your favorite color?" Clary rolled her eyes.

"Easy, it's gold." She smirked, rolling away from him and pillowing her face in her hand. She felt Jace's body heat pressed up against her back only a moment later.

"Do enlighten me on your love of the color gold." Clary laughed, sucking in a sharp breath his his fingers began kneading the skin at her hip, lifting the shirt up to expose more and more.

"Unlike you, I am a tough nut to crack." Mere seconds later, her shirt was off, and Jace was hovering over her, his lips at the crook of her neck.

"You know how to make me stop," he said, a smile playing against his lips. Clary glowered, not really that angry since she was wearing a sports bra and practiced in them all the time. She tried to push Jace off, but only succeeded in guiding his hips in a very suggestive motion. The bedsprings squeaked. His forearms braced his weight on either side of her, and Clary's palms were flattened against his chest. Her chest rose and fell in deep breaths, and truth-be-told, she didn't want him to stop. Ever. His lips trailed across her neck, his teeth catching her ear. They kissed the edge of her sports bra, his finger playing with the elastic band. He pressed his forehead against hers, dropping a kiss on the end of her nose. "Tell me, Testarossa."

"I…I don't…I don't want to," she sputtered, looking up at Jace. His eyes were flooded with worry, and she realized what that sounded like. "I don't want to because…I don't want you to stop." After admitting that, she grabbed his golden curls and brought his lips down onto hers. Jace's long eyelashes tickled her skin as her lips molded against his. She opened up to him right away, feeling his warm tongue caressing the inside of her mouth.

She wriggled herself closer to him and worked at the button of his jeans. Jace's hands stilled hers. "No, Clary, I don't want _us_ to be like this. I don't want anything else to be purely physical." Jace scrubbed his hands down his face, flopping onto his back next to Clary and folding his hands across his stomach. "Look, I'm not denying you or anything. It's just, I don't want to go that far until we know everything about each other, or more particularly until you know everything about my past."

"Jace…will you tell me about your past?" She felt Jace lace their fingers together.

"I think I will…sometime at least..." Clary yawned, realizing just how long her and Jace had been talking and how drained she felt.

"Soon, Jace…and then"—she stifled another yawn—"I'll tell you about mine." She felt sleep pulling her in, but she had one more thing she wanted to ask. She wanted to know so badly what he meant when he had said _us_. Did he mean there was something between them? That he felt the spark too? She yawned again and felt soft lips against her temple.

"Go to sleep, Testarossa. I have afternoon practice tomorrow. I promise to be here when you wake up." That was all the prompting Clary needed to slide into a dreamless bliss.

* * *

><p><em>Long…possibly confusing…PM me if you have any questions I'd be happy to answer…maybe a few spoilers and treats for you ;) Alrighty…you know what to do…REVIEW hehe I'll update according to the lovehate I receive from this chapter…'kay? Songs: Marilyn Monroe by Nicki Minaj (I LOVE THIS…look it up if you have never heard it before) and Jace sings Country Girl by Luke Bryan…I just saw him in concert…he threw me a guitar pick *swoon* he's only twenty years older than me…it could work…nevermind that's creepy…ANNNYWAYSSSS…I didn't mean to do two song chapters in a row but…I was listening to the Marilyn Monroe song the whole time and idk…I just couldn't help but work it in there…Like? Love? Hate? Tell me what you think…I can't cater to your wants and needs if you don't talk to me…K thanks! Lollipops and Jace abs for those of you that actually read all of my author's notes…It's basically a rambling message about anything and everything that is going on my head at the moment…like right now…I'm staring at a rock…awesome right? K…I need sleep…night world _

_All My Love, Lovelies._

_~BallinBlonde21._


	13. Stories and Snores

_Here's a new update...filler chapter...more to come like within the next week..school starts on Tuesday though...bummmmerrrrrrr :( oh well...that gives me more time to daydream about my stories :) hehe anyways...a grand thanks to my amazing new beta Mads-hatter-15 (She has cute Malec stories...check them out =D) anddddddddd I tried to make it cute and light and funny because the next chapters are where it all falls down :P Soooo...enjoy!_

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><p>Clary's face was nuzzled snugly into the crook of Jace's arm when she woke. Warmth flooded from her fingers to her toes as she remembered everything that had happened last night. The silly talks, the heated kisses, the lingering touches—every small sensation invaded her memory and filled her with a soaring joy that made her want to spring up from the mattress and bounce off the walls.<p>

She pulled herself closer to Jace's body, drawing the comforter up higher around her shoulders and allowing her eyes to flutter shut. She just wanted to stay in this peaceful moment forever. The serenity of being tucked into Jace's side comforted her, made her forget everything that had ever hurt her. His reassuring breaths beside her made her feel safe, only reminded her of all that was good in the world.

Sunlight flooded in through the parted curtains, and Clary squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't want to have to wake up yet. She hoped that Jace was still asleep so she could just lie beside him and pretend that everything was okay. Her life was slowly unraveling, but maybe Jace would be the one to sew the pieces back together. She had to admit that she didn't mind the thought of that. The image of Jace's shirtless, golden body stretched out beside her for the rest of her life was actually an appealing thought.

Then a feral noise ripped through the room. She curiously eyed the room. Everything was perfectly in order, except for two discarded t-shirts that lay in wrinkled heaps near the door. She drummed her fingers against her stomach as she glanced at the closed closet, the dust free dresser, and the locked door. What could have made that sound?

Another growl-like racket echoed off the walls. There was a rumbling sensation against Clary's chest, and her eyes tipped up to connect with Jace's face. His blonde tresses were tangled from sleep, his features smooth and peaceful. Peaceful wasn't ever a word Clary thought she would associate with Jace Herondale. She took in his chiseled face, his sculpted chest, his inky tattoo, and his ragged scars. She tentatively reached out a finger and ran it down the length of his chest, watching his arms curl around her automatically and pull her tight against his warm body. She craned her neck to return her gaze to his face. His long, dark eyelashes grazed his cheekbones and his mouth was parted, the humorous snoring escaping his perfect lips. His perfectly pink lips were parted, and the sound fell from between them.

Did this kid wake himself up snoring? The loud sound reverberated off the walls and echoed endlessly around the empty room. Clary was going insane trying to hold in her laughter. She didn't think Jace would be pleased if he woke up to her uncontrollably rolling with laughter at the way he slept. Who would have thought that perfect Jace Herondale would snore? Clary surely hadn't heard him snoring when they were in the bed at the hospital together. Her eyebrows pulled together. Had he slept even when he was with her?

Another chainsaw-like noise tore from Jace's chest, and Clary decided she needed to end this before she exploded with sniggers. She leaned in so her nose was barely touching his and paused. Was she allowed to do this? She felt Jace's grip around her tighten, and her worries dispersed as she gently pressed her lips against his. She smiled when she felt Jace respond immediately, his lips moving in synchronization. She found herself on her back as Jace rolled her over and hovered above her, his weight balanced on his forearms, never once breaking the kiss.

Clary tangled her fingers into his messy bed head and wriggled herself closer, feeling his fingers tugging absently at a curl. She felt every curve of him against her and released one of her hands to run it down his defined arms, taking his raised hand in hers and knotting their fingers together. She felt Jace smile against her lips. "I wouldn't mind waking up like this more often," he murmured. Clary felt his lips form every word against her own and shivered. Jace noticed this and smirked as he leaned down and stole another sweet kiss.

He flopped down onto the bed beside Clary and cast a sidelong glance in her direction. Just then, Clary's control cracked and she busted a gut, her hands reaching down to clutch her stomach as she rolled around on the bed, tears forming in her eyes. "What?" Jace asked, poking her gently in the ribs. Clary settled down momentarily, but looking back up at Jace just made her laugh more. "What's so funny?!" Jace asked again, exasperated. She pointed at him with her index finger and nearly fell off the bed. "Me?" he asked, gesturing to himself with his thumbs. Clary, meanwhile, was doing that strange, hiccupping thing that happened when you laughed to hard and couldn't breathe. Jace rolled his eyes and stuffed his face under a pillow.

"Nooooo, Jace…come backkkkk," Clary cooed, pulling against his hand, trying to get him to reveal his face. Sometime during the night he'd changed into gray pajama pants, but he'd otherwise remained shirtless, much to Clary's pleasure. "Jace…" she pouted when he easily countered her tugging. Finally, with a little more pulling, Jace shoved the pillow aside and pulled Clary quickly, but gently against him, his lips positioned at her ear.

"Care to let me in on your little joke?" Clary bit her lip, her shoulders heaving up and down as she struggled to contain herself. Jace noticed this and chuckled against her neck, the vibrations making Clary's skin tingle.

"You…you…you steal blankets!" she finally got out with a few giggles in between. She threw her head back and laughed again, even harder. "And you _snore_!" Jace flipped her over and started tickling her stomach, making her yelp and attempt to block his nimble fingers.

"And you don't?" he countered, incessantly stroking his fingers across the bare skin just below her ribs. "You sound like a banshee! It can't even be considered snoring when it's more of a wailing noise!" Clary could see that he was amused as she thrashed around beneath his fingertips, completely at his mercy.

"Well you—" she laughed, breathing heavily, "you sound…like a…like a…like a _motorcycle_. It woke me up!" She continued to fall at the hands of Jace, squealing in delight.

"Oh yeah? Well your howling wouldn't allow me to _fall_ asleep." Clary futilely pushed against his bare chest, but instead found her hands roaming the expanse of his golden skin, smirking upward at him.

"Maybe you didn't necessarily want to go to bed, what with me innocently snuggled up to your side, shirtless and all." Clary cocked an eyebrow in his direction, challenging him to tell her that her theory was incorrect. Jace's fingers froze as he sat up and got off the bed.

"Alright, we need to get out of here. You are obviously spending too much time with me and my awesomeness because that is something I would have said. I can't have someone that's almost as cool as me." He jerked his head in the direction of the door as Clary scrabbled around to find her t-shirt.

"Why, Jace Herondale, I believe that was a complement." She heard him chuckle, shaking his head as she strode out of his bedroom with him hot on her heels.

She trotted down to the kitchen and plopped down on a barstool, swiping an apple from the fruit bowl sitting on the counter. There was a crisp, crunching noise as she bit through the skin, and the sweet juices flooded into her mouth. "So what's on the agenda for today?" Jace asked, pulling whatever random junk he could find in the fridge out. Clary rolled her eyes at the wide array of useless food positioned before him.

"I don't know. Maybe Isabelle wants to hang out or something." Jace grumbled something around a mouthful of cold mu shu pork. It sounded a lot like the sound a clogged vacuum cleaner made. Clary swallowed another piece of her apple and waited for Jace to quit chewing his odd breakfast choice. "Mu shu pork?" she commented when he was done, and he nodded excitedly, popping some more into his mouth. "I don't know why everybody seems to think you're so perfect. You are by far the strangest man I've ever met."

"I heard: you're so perfect. Sexiest man I've ever met."

"Jace, I didn't even say sexy in the sentence."

"It was implied." Clary held back her smile by sinking her teeth into the apple again, not stopping to say anything to Jace until she'd eaten it down to the core. When she finally set it down, a drop of sticky liquid dribbled down her chin, and before she could use her hand to swat it away, Jace gingerly reached over and removed it with his thumb.

Clary stood there for a moment, awestruck. Maybe Jace Herondale really did have feelings for her. Maybe this wasn't just a use-each-other-to-feel-better relationship. "Clary. Clary?" Jace was saying, waving his hand in front of her eyes. Clary blinked.

"Hmmm?" she inquired, looking up at him. He had another stupid smirk on his face. "Sorry, I zonked out." Jace bit his lip in a way that said _whatever, liar_, but didn't press any further. He instead threw away the apple core and leaned on the counter, his palms on either side of Clary's elbows.

"I said, 'What are you going to do until Izzy is back from school and volleyball?'" Clary straightened up immediately, cursing under her breath. Jace tsked. "Clary, such crude language for such a young girl." Clary shot a glare at him.

"Shut up. You like it." Her mind was elsewhere as she noticed him smile. She was too hung up on the fact that she'd forgotten about volleyball. They had games next week, and she needed to get her practices in. Maybe if she just headed to the gym for a little extra work, the coach would count it as a practice and allow her to play next week in the games. She shoved her chair back from the counter with a scraping noise and started out of the kitchen, en route to her nearly abandoned bedroom.

"Where are you going, Testarossa?" She heard him following her down the hallway as she shoved through the door and started throwing random volleyball essentials into her athletic bag. Without answering him, she threw it over her shoulder and turned to go. She tugged her hair up into a ponytail while trying to duck beside Jace. He wouldn't move and blocked the entire doorway.

"To practice volleyball. We have games next week!" Jace shook his head.

"Clary, you just got released from the hospital yesterday. You are not in the condition to play." She rolled her eyes. Who was he to judge? He went to a hospital with open wounds yet wouldn't even see a doctor.

"Yeah, and who's girlfriend pushed me in front of a car?" Jace looked a bit stung at that comment, so Clary quickly backtracked, "I mean ex-girlfriend."

"Yeah, otherwise that would have meant that you threw yourself in front of a car, and that is not in any way logical. Besides, I probably wouldn't even be interested in a girl that could qualify for a room in an insane asylum—"

Clary's eyes widened. "Jace, did you just unintentionally call me your girlfriend?" she interrupted.

"—I mean, a crazy, possibly murderous lunatic might be a fun person to hang around—I'm not judging—but that's just not really my thing." He finally stopped listening to himself speak long enough to realize that Clary had said something. "Hmm?" Clary shook her head.

"Never mind." She pressed her chin to her chest to hide the disappointed look on her face and the flush in her cheeks as she again aimed to scoot around him. Jace pressed a hand against her shoulder and held her back, eyeing her carefully. When she didn't look up, he took her chin between his thumb and index finger and raised her gaze to meet his steady golden one.

"What did you ask? Don't be shy, Testarossa. That's not how you were last night." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Clary smacked his cheek lightly. "Owww," he complained, rubbing the spot with mock-hurt.

"I asked if you just called me your girlfriend," she said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and it pretty much was. Jace looked upward thoughtfully, as if thinking back to what he'd just said. Clary sighed and brushed by him, stalking down the hallway. She heard his rushed footsteps follow her down the hall.

"Yes, Clary!" he called after her retreating form. "Yes! I called you my girlfriend!" Clary stopped and whirled around, placing her hand on her hip. Her fiery red curls fanned around her like a wild flower, since they'd failed to be contained by the skimpy, breakable elastic.

"What makes you think I want to be your girlfriend?" She narrowed her eyes at the golden creature ten steps behind her. He looked like a lost puppy with his hands in the air.

"Doesn't everybody?" he asked, his arrogant smirk replacing the sad look from before. Clary huffed and continued down toward the door. That was not the answer she wanted. She stormed into the elevator and repeatedly hit the ground floor button, glaring at Jace as he stepped in with her. "Clary, that's not what I meant to say. I don't have a censor." Clary continued to glower, pushing the button harder until the doors screamed closed. Jace cursed and brushed her fingers aside, slamming the emergency stop button. An alarm began to blare in the closed space, and strobe lights flashed like a dance floor.

"Jace!" Clary yelled, manically pressing keys on the elevator wall. "Now the police are going to show up." Jace dismissed her fear with a wave of his hand.

"I clipped that wire years ago, when I first moved in here." Clary's eyebrows shot up.

"And what did you do in a stopped elevator, Jace?" He cleared his throat awkwardly, and Clary crinkled her nose. "Jace! That's disgusting!" She made a show of wiping her hands across his chest and muttering _ew_ over and over again.

"Clary. Clary!" Jace grabbed her wrists, stilling her frenzied swiping. Clary noticed a drop of blood where her nails had dug in slightly.

"What, Jace?" she asked, frustrated. She settled herself and wrenched her hands from the confines of his fingers.

He thrust his hands into his hair. "I…I really want you to be my girlfriend." He said, and Clary nodded, but remained silent, prompting him to continue. "Would you…?" His question dropped off, and Clary crossed her arms defiantly.

"Would I what, Jace?" He squeezed his eyes shut, as if asking this simple question was putting him through some kind of physical pain.

"Would you be my girlfriend?" Clary laughed at his look. His face was contorted, and he was visibly trembling. Was that what happened when Jace Herondale got nervous? "Yes, Jace. I will be your girlfriend." There was a loud sigh that filled the silence that followed, and slowly, Jace opened one eye at a time, his taut muscles relaxing as his signature smirk adorned his lips.

"See? I told you everybody wanted to be my girlfriend."

X.O.X.O.X

Clary ducked back into the Institute as Jace's restored Charger raced off into the distance. She felt and odd pang of loneliness as she wandered through the vast halls of her college home, pushing through random doors and exploring the great amount of space that the Institute offered. She slowly paced through the library, fingers brushing along the battered spines of old books that looked as if by merely opening them, they could fall to dust. She pressed keys on the piano in the room where Jace had comforted her yesterday. She tumbled around on the mats in a room that looked like it was used for fighting training. She sorted and organized her closet, attempting to make her room just as clean as Jace's.

There was nothing she could do to push away the feeling of isolation that enveloped her as the blond angel drove into the horizon. Nobody was around. Alec was most likely with Magnus, unaware of Clary alone at the Institute. Jace was on the field, practicing plays and spirals with the rest of his team. Clary was probably just a teeny thought in the back of his mind right now, and Isabelle was still in her fashion classes and then would have volleyball practice at five.

She glowered at her closed door. When there was nothing to distract her, all she could think about was the flurry of lies she'd been bombarded with the past few days. The seemed to hang above her like a thick raincloud, just waiting for her lowest point and then opening up and drenching her in factuality. Did the Lightwoods know that Sebastian was related to them? Did they know of Clay's past? She shook her head and shoved a pillow over her head, trying to shield her thoughts from the bad. It wasn't working as a brilliant image flashed in her mind.

_"Luke," Jocelyn said, watching a small Clary toddle around the customers of the bookstore, delivering small dandelions to each one, grinning excitedly as the adults graciously accepted her gifts. The air was hot and acrid probably from a midsummer heat wave that crashed over the United States, not that young Clary had known that at the time. "Luke!" Jocelyn repeated, her voice becoming frantic, a subtle amount of fear lacing her words. Clary's head snapped in the direction of her mother as her chubby legs struggled to reach her. _

_Suddenly, her father, or rather, her adoptive father, appeared at the older redhead's side. Clary tugged impatiently at her curly ponytails as they whispered back and forth, hushed words that Clary's small ears could not pick up. Why weren't they paying attention to her? What was more important than their daughter? Clary's four-year-old green eyes shifted to where her parents were staring. The man in the corner had white-blond hair. It was ruffled, but not shiny with sweat like most of the other customers. He was tall and muscular, his features precise, symmetrical, and his eyes were downcast, not giving Clary a good view of their color._

_"What should we do?" she heard Jocelyn say, and she turned her gaze back to her frazzled mother. She was dressed in old, jean overalls, coated with the red color of clay and thick splatters of paint. Her hair was gathered in a messy bun at the top of her head, held together by two, crossed pencils. Clary smiled at her mom, her cheeks pulling apart to reveal her recently completed set of teeth. Her mother didn't notice her, just kept her eyes trained on the man innocently flipping through Luke's classics collection. Clary huffed exasperatedly, stomping over to the man with an innocent grin on her face. "Clary!" Jocelyn squeaked, but she was already too far away to be caught._

_She reached the man and smiled sweetly, picking the biggest, prettiest dandelion from her bouquet and extending it toward him. As the man looked up, she was met with muddy brown eyes. They weren't the normal, wholesome brown eyes. They had an undertone of darkness, like the brown was artificial, like he was wearing colored contact lenses. He offered her a small smile and a wink before taking the flower from her grasp and tucking it behind his ear. Clary giggled and dashed back over to her parents, who embraced her tightly, the old fear seeming to have evaporated in a matter of moments. "It's not him," he heard Luke's deep voice tell Jocelyn, "he had brown eyes."_

So her mother had shown fear of her father. Clary just hadn't remembered what she acted like when she did. Her eyebrows furrowed together. What did she have to go by? She now knew that her father had very, very light blond hair. That he was somewhat stocky, and that his eyes were not brown. Were they blue? Were they green like Clary's? Basically, she had nothing but another memory returned to the surface. Other than that, she was no closer to solving the mystery of herself. God, who was she? Nancy- freaking- Drew?

Clary sighed audibly, flopping backward onto her bed. She missed volleyball practice. She was starting to have withdrawals. Her head didn't hurt so much today, and her broken toes barely felt tweaked. At least, that was what she was telling herself as she tugged on the thin fabric of her spandex and cut-off t-shirt. She shoved her feet into rubber flip flops and tossed her shoes and kneepads into her bag, hitching it up on her shoulder as she walked out into the corridor, her shoes snapping loudly into the silence.

Interestingly enough, about two and a half hours had passed since Jace had left. She picked up her pace, hoping to be gone before Jace arrived, knowing full well that if anyone saw her, they wouldn't allow her to go to practice, probably playing the you-just-got-out-of-the-hospital card. Whatever. Clary didn't care. She needed to feel the rush of leaping into the air and swinging her arm down against the hard surface of the ball, the thundering sound echoing around the gym as the ball slammed down on the other side of the net, leaving the other players awestruck in its wake.

She needed normalcy, something that wasn't new to her, something that was one-hundred percent real. Volleyball was that something. She'd played it for as long as she could remember, loving the adrenalin rush evoked by the feeling of receiving the serve perfectly, by running through the steps of the approach, by teammates claiming that white girl could in fact jump. Barely anything ever changed. Sure, she had new teammates. Sure, there were variables in the game, but her position was constant, the rules were the same and had to be followed to a T. You wore the same gear, cheered the same cheer. She reached the elevator and frantically began pushing the button, eyes flitting about the room for anyone to try to stop her.

The elevator dinged as it arrived, the doors sliding open with a slight whine. Clary slinked inside, pushing the button that brought her to ground level. Her feet tapped impatiently against the ugly carpet as she awaited her stop. She slipped the ponytail from around her wrist and piled her fiery curls in a messy bun on the top of her head. The elevator jerked to a standstill, and Clary watched the main level of the Institute appear before her.

She yelped as a set of golden eyes appeared before her. "Whatcha doing, Testarossa?" Clary glowered. There went her fantastic plan to distract herself from all the confusion in her life. Jace flinched backward and raised his hands in a sign of innocence. "Whoa, pardon me for my curiousness."

Clary stepped through the threshold and continued out the door of the Institute. "Nothing, Jace. I just need to get some fresh air." She could tell that he was still hovering behind her as she made her way down the sidewalk.

"Really? Because you just dropped a kneepad." She turned around and snatched the offending object from his hand. "Clary, come on." He slipped the bag from over her shoulder and put it on his, taking her hand and leading her to his Charger. He opened the door and ushered her inside before shutting it. After putting her bag in the back, he slid into the driver's side, throwing the car into reverse and then tearing out of the driveway.

Before Clary could even get a word out, Jace's eyes were on her. "Clary, we need to talk. You need to know about my past."

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><p><em>Okay :) how did you like it...Touch the review button if you are breathe regularly :) <em>

_~All My Love_

_BallinBlonde21_


	14. Helmets and Hotels

_Hey guys, this was meant to be up Friday, since my lovely beta Mads-hatter-15 had it done for me on Thursday. But life happens, and it so happend that two of my best friends were killed in a car accident Friday night, and I have not been up to posting this since. With that said...I do not know how often chapters will come now, since I have a lot to deal with at the moment. I would love if you could stick with me and know that updates will come when I can...thanks for being lovely readers, and with that...enjoy._

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><p>There was a sense of loss in his gut as the redhead's silhouette became smaller and smaller in his rearview mirror. She was his girlfriend, and the word plastered a goofy grin on his face. He had never felt so alive when he was with a girl. He had never wanted to be his best for anyone, until now. When Clary was around, Jace wanted to let his guard down, to let her in on all his pain and suffering. He wanted to take away her hurt and just protect her within the circle of his arms. His foot pressed down on the gas a little more. He'd left a little later than usual since being with Clary made him forget everything that had once mattered. He'd realized that those things were just fillers to plug the gaping hole that was torn through his chest with the death of his mom.<p>

He hung a hard right, nearly missing the road to the college. The scars branded into his skin were blazing in reminder of what could happen when he disobeyed his father. _To love is to destroy, Jace_. He shook his head against the memory, biting down hard on his cheek to hold back a scream. Her glassy eyes, her deathly pallor, her still chest, her limp body filled his mind. _To love is to destroy, Jace_. His vision went bleary at the edges, and Jace gritted his teeth. The parking lot loomed just before him, but it felt as if it were miles away as he spiraled toward the horrific memories of his childhood. "Suck it up, Jace Herondale," he spat at himself, hitting the dashboard in frustration with himself. "The day that you let a _Wayland_ get to you….is the day you die." His eyes cleared, and he swiftly pulled into the parking space closest to the locker room.

He was one minute later than usual, but still here before practice. The thought made him hopeful as he racked his eyes across his t-shirt. He'd refrained from putting it on until right before he left, but somehow, Clary's curly, red hair still managed to plaster itself to the gray fabric. He smirked in memory of the way his spitfire had said goodbye, his fingers finding themselves against his lips, remembering the whisper of hers against them.

He hurtled out of the car and into the locker room, carefully stripping away everything except his tank top before positioning his pads and linking his fingers through the facemask of his helmet. He squirted himself in the face with cold water to be sure to clear the flush that Clary had left in his cheeks and to dispel the dirty thoughts that would thoroughly distract him from being the best quarterback he could. Michael Wayland's voice sounded at the doorway, and the players immediately stood at attention. "Well boys," he sneered, his eyes working their way across the players before him, their brown depths filled with distaste at what he saw. "In less than a week, we play the homecoming game against the NYU Bobcats. And all of you guys are still sissies." His eyes hovered against Jace for a moment. "Give me fifteen laps around the football field. No breaks." The guys continued to stare at their dictator before he became annoyed and rolled his eyes. "Go."

Jace made to leave, but a firm hand against his chest stopped him from progressing any further. "Not you," Michael growled, shoving Jace down onto the bench. His teammates didn't give him a backward glance as they hurried faster to get out to the field. "Now...I have noticed that you arrived a few minutes later than usual." Jace just shrugged, continuing to lace up his black, top-of-the-line cleats. Wayland slammed his hand against the locker next to them and snarled. "You will listen to me when I speak!" Jace looked up reluctantly, unperturbed by the violent outburst. Of course, that was to be expected as he'd fared much, much worse. "Now, as I was saying, you've been late, your game has been noticeably sloppy, and there are very, very unattractive circles beneath your eyes."

The blonde boy bit down on the inside of his cheek, a witty comeback threatening to burst from his mouth at any moment. There was a silence as his stepfather waited for Jace to explain. Usually he did. Usually he had some foolproof, intricate lie woven up in his brain as to why he was tired, or late, or off, but all that he could think about at the moment was the spitfire of a redhead that waited for him back home. He was soon lost in the darker rim of green around the melted emerald pools that were her irises, the ringlets that escaped her signature bun and bounced freely around her face, the way her limbs moved fluidly as she stalked away from him, or shifted closer to him. Every curve, every inch, every freckle was branded into his mind, an extravagant picture of Clary painted before his eyes.

There was a loud, resounding crack as Michaels palm connected with Jace's cheek. Jace knew that even if someone had heard or seen, they wouldn't have said anything. Michael Wayland was just that scary.

"What have I told you, son?! Have I taught you nothing?! To love is to destroy! Hasn't that been imprinted in your brain? Or must I give you a reminder—" Michael drew his hand back and balled it into a fist, lashing out into Jace's gut as he stumbled backward toward the lockers.

"I'm…not…I'm not in…" he couldn't get the words out between the gasping breaths trying to force themselves through his esophagus. He fanned his palm about against the cool metal of the lockers behind him, bracing himself as he fought to catch his breath. "I'm not…in love." Michael cackled menacingly, his lips turning upward in a sneer.

"It's written all over your face, boy! I can tell when someone is in love. How can I do that? Because I was once in love myself. I was once a pathetic, meek man that was willing to throw his life on the line for some woman that didn't care at all." He looked away wistfully for a moment before his hard look returned. "Alright, son," Jace hated when Michael called him son; the man had murdered his mother and abused him, that was not a father-it was a monster! But he had no other choice, so he gritted his teeth and listened, "you return to practice, and we'll dispose of your little…problem…tomorrow." A wave of nausea curled through Jace's stomach as he thought of Michael's ways of disposing of a problem.

Jace nodded anyway, though his mind was whirling. "Yes, sir," was his curt reply as he slowly ventured toward the door, leaving Michael behind him fixing his colored, contact lenses. How was he going to protect Clary? Was he strong enough against his stepfather's torture? Could he keep her name a secret? He hoped that Michael meant that they would beat his love out of him, but that was wishful thinking. He would never _severely_ injure Jace, not with homecoming and a big pay bonus for a won game. Who was it that had said money was the root of all evil? Jace didn't know, but for right now, they were wrong. Money would corrupt, yes. However it also could protect.

He pulled the helmet over his head and tried to lose himself in the mundane activities of practice. He just couldn't shake the nagging feeling that urged him to act out and protect Clary. But there was something bigger tugging his heartstrings.

Was Michael right? Did he _love_ Clary? He certainly liked her. He liked her more than he'd ever liked anything before. Hell, he liked her more than _football_, and football was something he loved, something that he utterly adored. Did that by terms of transitive property mean that he loved Clary? If he loved football, and he liked Clary more than football, then he _must_ love Clary. Right? So what the hell was stopping him from protecting her?

A shrill whistle split the cold, September air, drawing Jace's attention to the coach standing at the fifty yard line, shaking his head disapprovingly at Jace's less than perfect pass. "That was _not_ a spiral, Herondale. I expect better. Twenty more reps." He groaned inwardly, but complied without fight, completing the next twenty passes with ease. His clung to his cool demeanor like a security blanket as his inner self was quaking in fear for Clary. He struggled to grope for a solution, for a way to protect her without hurting her. Surely if he pretended to not like her anymore, it would crush her. If he let her stick around with his stepdad(scratch that: step-monster) lurking in the shadows, she could face danger at every turn.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he barely noticed the team huddle up around him and chant their little saying that they did after the end of every practice. _Never let good enough be enough_. Jace shuffled back behind his team. Merely watching over Clary wasn't enough to ensure that _nothing_ would happen to her. Michael was also scarily good at evading the cops and catching Jace before he went to the police. He ran his hands down his face as he crawled into the shower stall, striping himself of his sweaty clothes and feeling the steamy water run off of him. It dawned on him what he had to do. He'd been planning it for years. There was a suitcase in his trunk and everything. He'd strategically mapped out places to go and stay. Also he knew that Michael would never report him as a missing person, since that would draw federal attention to him. He finished his shower quickly then, and dressed himself switly, rushing out of the locker room without a simple goodbye to his loyal team.

Could he really just ditch everything in New York and take Clary with him? Would she come? The open road looked tantalizing and inviting as he dumped his junk into his car and settled in the front seat. Jace turned the key in the ignition of his car and glanced backward one more time at the field where he'd lost lots of blood, and sweat, and no tears. He looked back at the place where he'd beaten team after team, gone undefeated for two years. He eyed the stands where fans stood screaming his name, where the cheerleaders stood badly flirting with him as he waited on the sidelines. And suddenly, it all seemed so insignificant, like it was nothing. The thrill of the field was nothing compared to when Clary simply ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed heavily, oddly content with his decision. He could leave his football team, the dream that Michael had forced upon him, and go live his life. Clary would come with him. She couldn't decline of she felt the same way he did[and he was pretty convinced she felt the same]. She wouldn't leave him alone. She'd join him. She just had to.

The road from St. Xavier's to the Institute had never gone so quickly. Soon he was in the driveway, rushing up the already familiar path to Clary's room. He frantically pushed the elevator button, waiting for the signature ding. When the sound finally did come, Jace saw a sliver of red as the doors parted. Immediately his eagerness was replaced by the cool sense of calmness that he wore like a cloak around everyone except himself. "Whatcha doing, Testarossa?" He jerked away from her death glare. What was wrong? "Whoa, pardon me for my curiousness," his cocky attitude answered before his collected mind. That deserved a mental facepalm.

She breezed by him, emotionless as she pushed through the front door. "Nothing, Jace," she said in a very annoyed voice. "I just need to get some fresh air." He followed closely behind, watching as he bag bounced on her hip and knocked out a black, foam object that had been balancing precariously on the top.

"Really? Because you just dropped a kneepad." She looked defiant as she whirled around on her heel and stole the kneepad from his grasp, stomping in the other direction. He saw an unpleasant scenario flash through his mind, one that involved him leaving on the road alone and leaving Clary vulnerable. "Clary, come on," he said gently, leading her toward his Charger and helping her into the passenger seat. He then crawled in opposite of her and looked over. "Clary, we need to talk. You need to know about my past."

X.O.X.O.X

Clary remained silent as Jace swerved and curved around the many roads of New York, sometimes swearing over a missed turn and curling around the entire block to return to the passed street. The radio droned on in the background so quietly that Clary couldn't tell if there was a song playing or if people were talking. The sun was slowly falling closer and closer to the horizon, and the fall-colored leaves drifted from the tree branches.

Finally, Jace pulled the car over onto a cracked street. The windows were rolled down and air thundered in through the hole, whipping Clary's loose strands of hair wildly around. Jace didn't even seem to notice the way his blonde locks swished in the wind, drying the wetness that clung to the strands and mussing them gently. She thought that he was pulling over when he just turned back onto the interstate, speeding down the road faster than the other drivers. "Jace…" she said tentatively, reassured by the pleasant hum that sounded from his throat."Where are we going?" He looked over at her quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly, his eyes focused intently on the orange Prius driving too slow for his taste. Clary momentarily pondered this. Of course she trusted him, but could she outright say it?

"Yes." Jace nodded and continued driving, weaving in and out of traffic. They made simple small talk until the sun started dipping below the horizon. She found out that Jace once had a pet bird that he adored. She found out that football was the only sport he enjoyed playing, though he also did basketball and ran in track. She shared her love of art that he already knew about, and she told him about Simon's annoying pet cat that was always sneezing on her. He had laughed at this. Finally, Jace pulled off the road into a parking lot to some crappy motel. Clary's eyebrows furrowed as he parked in a spot shrouded by shrubbery.

He looked at her momentarily before getting out and grabbing her volleyball bag and a suitcase from the trunk. He juggled it all and opened her door, reaching in for her hand. Clary took it without hesitation, smiling sweetly at him as they walked into the lobby and bought a room with two beds and a color TV set. The old man behind the desk joked with them good-naturedly about what a young couple could be doing in a rundown hotel. Jace just smiled at the man and jingled the keys as they traversed down the hall, the wheels of the suitcase humming against the ground. Clary always thought that if she'd been brought to a hotel room she'd be uncomfortable, worried, but with Jace, she was just calm, relishing in the way their fingers linked perfectly together.

They arrived at the door, and the lock clicked as it sprung free of the latch. Jace opened the door and allowed Clary to enter first before following in and sliding the deadbolt home. The noise echoed off the walls of the small room. There were two full-sized beds shoved very close to each other with icky motel comforters covering them. An ancient television set stood on a rickety table and a small door led to a tiny bathroom. Jace set the bags down and sat on the bed, shaking his head and closing his eyes. Boldy, Clary dropped down in his lap, loving the way his arms automatically held her against him, like she was doing something right by wanting to be close to him. She brushed small kisses on his closed eyelids and leaned her forehead against his.

His chest was shaky as he exhaled, nuzzling his face into the crook of Clary's neck so that her chin rested upon his blond waves. "Clary…I…I don't want you to think any less of me because of my past. I want you to know that I've come to terms with it and don't need you to feel sorry for me." Clary could tell this was taking a lot for him to come clean. She suspected it wasn't something he'd ever shared before, since he'd said that nobody had ever seen him shirtless.

"Never," she breathed, positioning herself more comfortably in his lap. He sighed heavily, staring deeply into her eyes. His mouth opened and closed as if he meant to say something, but couldn't force the words out. "It's okay, Jace," she said, running her fingertips down the length of his cheek, "take your time." Jace performed the subtlest of head nods before breathing her in. Clary liked that, that merely the scent of her could calm his nerves. She snuggled closer to him and traced her fingers along his chest.

She waited patiently as the only sound in the entire room was the hushed sounds of their breathing. Finally, it all spilled out in a big rush. Clary listened intently, hanging onto every word of his sad story, trying to hold back the tears in her eyes. She had to be strong for him. The memories from his past had him shaking.

"When I was very, very young…my dad…my real dad…he died in combat, and I never really knew him. But my mother was broken…until she met Michael Wayland when I was about two. They married soon after—" Jace continued with his childhood story, letting Clary in on the intimate details of almost each scar the decorated his body, and all the while, Clary sat by him, with her arms wrapped securely around his middle.

She held onto him as he described what it was like to grow up not knowing your father. What it was like watching your mother die before your eyes. What it was like to do something wrong and have your father lash out at you with a knife, leaving you bleeding in the corner. She saw his eyes glistening as he talked about what his father had taught him about love. "Do you think to love is to destroy, Jace?" she asked, fingering the hemline of his t-shirt.

"I don't know what I think anymore, baby," he said, and Clary froze. He called her baby. She secretly smiled inside as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

"Well, I think that love makes you stronger because when you're in love, you're a team, and two is always stronger than one." She looked up and saw Jace smiling. "Jace…" she said, returning to the task of ripping the stitches out of his worn t-shirt.

"Mmmm?" he replied quietly. Clary closed her fingers around the fabric of his shirt and looked up.

"Why are we in a motel?" Jace's face blanched and Clary immediately backpedaled. "Not that I don't want to be here with you. I mean it is very, very nice—" a finger to her lips quieted her.

"I just…need to get away for awhile, and I thought you might want to come with me." Clary smiled brightly, grabbing out her cell phone and dialing her mother's number.

"Mom?" she said into the speaker when her mother connected the call. "I'm going on a road trip. I just need to think about a lot of things, and I think this is best. " Her mother protested loudly into the earpiece, and Clary held it away from her ear. "I'll be safe, Mom. I promise. I love you." She hung up as her mother returned the sentiment and looked up at Jace. "I'd love to come with you." The shining grin on his face was enough to put her over the edge. Clary whimpered, and Jace pressed his lips against hers, tugging her down onto the bed so that they were tangled in a mess of limbs, lips, and hair. Jace's lips tasted of salty tears; the motel bed was uncomfortable and squeaky; and Jace made sure the clothes stayed on, but to Clary, everything was perfect as she cuddled up against Jace and allowed her eyelids to flutter shut. She felt Jace's beautiful lips on her forehead and heard the hushed words that made her heart sing. "I love you."

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><p><em>Did you like it? Review please, Lovelies. I need something to make me smile.<em>

_All My Love,_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	15. Hideousness and Horseplay

_Guess who is BACK, lovelies! Miss me? Because I sure missed you? And I'm certain that all of you believed that I had abandoned my stories, but truth is, my life has kinda sorta been a lot to deal with over the course of the last ten months, so for those of you that stuck it out...thank you SO SO SO much. I can't even begin to express how much it means to me to have loyal readers. And yes, you've waited ten months for this chapter, and yes it's well over due, but it's kinda fluffy and kinda funny (well I thought it was) so I hope you enjoy. And for those of you that are angry with me, and just want answers, well here they are: I had never been to a funeral before this year. And my first two were back to back. Two of my close friends passed away together in a car accident, and that was heartbreaking. I didn't know what to do with myself. I just kinda, fell into a hole. And then, only a month later, I found out that someone I had grown up with, that was like a brother to me, had been in an accident. I attended my third funeral that same week. Then, my uncle passed on about two months ago, and that was my fourth funeral. I hadn't been able to write, hadn't even been able to think about another person's happiness until now, so I hope you'll bare with me as I slowly transition back into writing. Thanks, lovelies!_

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><p>Clary woke when the sun was barely above the horizon, a pale light seeping through the edges of the motel's tacky curtains. She'd barely slept last night, still to jittery from Jace's whispered proclamation. <em>He loves me!<em> Her heart shouted at her all night. _He loves me!_ She felt as giddy as a school girl who'd picked all the petals of the prettiest flower and finished with those three little words. "He loves me," she mouthed now into the darkness, turning her wide green gaze to the sleeping angel splayed out beside her.

He was face down, his shaggy hair falling across his forehead in messy waves. His golden eyelashes brushed his cheekbones, and the hard façade that usually guarded his expression had fallen away, leaving behind an innocent, child-like happiness. A small smile played on his parted lips, his chest falling in synchronization with his soft snore. Even in his sleep, Jace's strong arms had wrapped protectively around Clary's tiny waist, prepared to shield her from any oncoming threat. She almost giggled at this, only stifling it because she didn't want to disturb something so peaceful. Somehow, she managed to disengage their tangled limbs and slip silently from his grasp, gliding through the room like a ghost.

She shut herself inside the hotel bathroom, gasping at the girl in the mirror before her. She didn't think she'd ever looked _this_ terrible before. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying in vain to tame the wild mess that a bird had nested in last night. Her face was pallid, dark freckles marring her cheekbones. Dark, purple bags decorated her lower eyelids, and her lips were cracked and chapped. "Damn it!" she cursed at herself, regretting that she'd never been one of those girls to carry spare makeup in her purse.

Not only did her face repulse her, but her cut-off shirt was wrinkled, and the spandex did nothing to cover her pasty legs. She groaned, knowing full well that she would _never_ go out in public like this. There was a small knock at the door, and she groaned even louder. "Go away!" she called through the wooden barrier, sinking down against it and leaning her cheek against its cool surface.

"Testarossa," Jace wined from the other side, and the pet name made her heart flutter, though it quickly returned to stone as she remembered the odd person blinking back at her from the mirror.

"I said, 'Go away!' Why is that so complicated to you?" She banged her fist against the door for emphasis, hearing a low chuckle from the other side.

"Why so serious?" he asked in a spot-on imitation of The Joker, but then again, when did Jace Herondale ever fail at anything? Clary snarled at him, or rather, at his sheer perfection. She could only imagine the sexy golden bedhead that adorned his sculpture-worthy face, with his husky voice and hooded eyes. She bit her lip to keep herself from sneaking a peak.

"Jace," she said, his name a barely audible squeak, "I look like I was banished to hell, fought my way back to Earth, and fell back down all in one night." She heard his throaty chuckle.

"Seeing as that I'm here, this is _definitely _anything _but_ hell. And come on, Clary. I've _never_ seen you look terrible." Clary scoffed as he attempted to spoon-feed her his lines.

"How many girls have you said that to in the morning," she spat at him, hearing a sharp intake of breath. Good. She'd struck a never. Maybe he'd leave her alone to die in this bathroom, in her humiliatingly gross state. She could hear Jace's fingers drum against the wooden doorframe.

"Well, Testarossa, I've never woken up beside a girl before you, so just one." Clary gasped and immediately felt ashamed of her actions. She started to apologize, but Jace waved it off immediately. "I was once a player. I'm not surprised that you had expected me to have—" Clary tried to interject, but Jace just kept on talking. "—had millions of girls sleep in my bed. But no, Clary, the only one I've allowed to sleep there, was you." Tears sprung into Clary's eyes as his words brought back to mind the three little words he'd said last night. _I love you_. Who would know that such a simple phrase could make such an impact on a person's life? It was as if she'd been holding her breath her entire life, nearly suffocating, until those words were uttered to her, and she could again breathe. And the way he said it, sheltered by the darkness of night, whispered for only her ears to hear. It was like a secret that only the two of them shared, something sacred and special that only the two of them understood. Just then, she thought back to last night. She didn't say it back to him. She began to panic. She didn't tell Jace that she loved him! Did that change his feelings? Did he rethink things and realize it was a mistake. Her body began hyperventilating, and a sound jolted her out of her reverie. She hadn't realized that Jace had been trying to talk to her during her musings.

"Hmmm?" she hummed in question, hearing a sigh in answer.

"Is there anything I can do, baby? Just tell me, and I'll do it." Clary contemplated the embarrassing acts that she could command Jace to perform. Maybe running around town wearing a giant hotdog suit, or forcing him to wear high heels in public. She laughed inwardly, deciding to keep those filed away for a later date.

"Could you—" she paused, hating asking others for favors. But when Jace asked for her to continue, eager to help his damsel in distress, she felt comfortable enough to accept his help. "Could you run to the store and get me something to wear? And maybe some soap? Or makeup?" Jace laughed, and she could just imagine the crinkles on the edges of his golden eyes, the curve of his lips, she way his shoulders bobbed up and down with his laughter.

"Anything for you, Testarossa," was his curt response, and before Clary could say anything, Jace had vanished outside the motel door.

X.O.X.O.X

Clary had thumbed through some text messages on her cell phone was Jace was away. She listened to Isabelle's frantic voicemail and notice eighteen missed calls from the black-haired beauty. Laughing quietly to herself, she dialed the number, her laughter bubbling over when her friend picked up halfway through the first ring. "Clarissa!" the sharp voice snapped in her ear. "Do you think you can completely ditch me and _laugh_?" Isabelle's mock-anger tone only caused Clary to laugh harder, which in turn sent her into a fit of hiccups. "Oh, jeez, Clary. Drink some water or something."

After finally calming down, Clary explained to her friend that her mother _and_ her brother had both dropped bombs into her life, shattering the foundation that she had once thought of as sturdy. Isabelle knew better than to inquire about these so-called "bombs," knowing Clary well enough to realize that she would be informed when Clary was ready. She also confided in her friend that she'd felt off ever since the accident, that she just needed to get away for awhile and collect her thoughts.

"Fine," Isabelle said in conclusion, "but when you return, I'm giving you a full-fledged makeover." Clary groaned into the mouthpiece. "Oh, no complaining now," she could hear the smile in Isabelle's voice. "It's my treat." Clary kept her expletives to herself and said goodbye, hanging up the phone with a stupid grin on her face. Somehow, any chat with Isabelle was a good chat.

X.O.X.O.X

"Jace?" Clary called as she heard the motel door open and close.

"Yo," was his quick greeting as she heard the rustle of bags. His fist rapped gently on the door, but Clary made no motion to open it. "You know, in order for you to get all these goodies, you have to pull down on the lever and open the magical portal between us. That's the point of a _door_." Clary moaned, casting a sidelong glance at her reflection.

"Just…drop the stuff and go sit on the bed."

"What? Is this a stick up? Are you going to hold a gun to my head and force me to do whatever you please?"

"Wouldn't you enjoy that…" Clary responded sarcastically, flipping the lock on the door and sticking a pale arm out the crack. She'd expected Jace to snatch her wrist and yank her into full view, but to her surprise, she felt the weight of the bags in her hands.

"I get it," he murmured into the space between them. "If you don't want me to see you in your current state, I won't look." Clary was at a loss for words as she retreated back into her bathroom oasis. She saw a bag with shower gel and shampoo in it, snatching its contents first and stepping into a steamy stream of water. Clary applauded her boyfriend when she realized he'd bought her a razor and shaving cream, and relished in the feel of her smooth legs against her palms. Maybe that was more for his benefit than hers, but she didn't care.

Once she felt fully clean, she exited the shower and coated her body in the lotion Jace had purchased for her, smelling wholly of strawberries and cream. She brushed her teeth and controlled her hair with a thick braid that fell almost to the small of her back. She began applying makeup when she saw a small, blue box sitting on the floor. "Ah, Jace?" she called. She didn't wait for his reply before continuing her question. "Why did you buy me _tampons_?" She heart throaty laughter from a distance away.

"Well, for one, you were being completely grumpy, so I thought I'd pick them up just in case," he chuckled as Clary threw a few curse words his way. "And, for two, it really helped when I told the lady at the checkout that I was preparing for the surgery." Clary couldn't help but laugh along with him, nearly messing up her brown eyeliner as she did. She finished applying eye makeup, which Jace had picked out rather perfectly, nearly matching all her usual shades, before rifling through her new belongings in search of clothes. She growled at what she came up with.

"You bought me a _SLUTTY NURSE COSTUME?!_" More howling from presumably the bed.

"It was on sale! You know, since Halloween is so near." She growled and threw the costume out the door. Come to think of it, maybe she would need those tampons soon. Her emotions were really on edge. "Awe, babe, come on. It was a joke." She hadn't realized that she'd left the door open, and Jace's arms wrapped around her towel-clad waist from behind. He kissed the skin behind her ear. "Here," he said, extending a bag she hadn't known he'd been holding. It was from American Eagle, one of Clary's favorite stores. She smiled as she pulled out a pair of dark-washed jeans that flared slightly at the bottom, and a green, loose-fitting top. A pair of brown flip flops sat at the bottom of the bag, and Clary stretched up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips.

"You know me so well." He grinned at this, and extracted another bag from behind his back. This one was pink and all too familiar.

"And _this_," he said, addressing the striped bag, "is for underneath." Clary slapped him playfully as he winked and exited the bathroom. To her surprise, the Victoria's Secret bag didn't hold any sexy lingerie, but rather a simple pink bra and some bikini bottoms. She dressed quickly and bounded out of her haven, only to throw herself into the arms of her sanctuary.

"Jace," she breathed into the soft cotton of his presumably new American Eagle t-shirt. She tried not to get distracted by the perfect way it clung to his muscles and how it moved over him like a second skin. "You didn't have to spend so much on me." Jace laughed and kissed the crown of her hair.

"My grandparents left me a rather _large_ inheritance," he responded, hugging Clary tightly against him, as if he thought that letting go would cause her to disappear.

"How large?" she asked, ready to refute the fact that spending that much money on her wasn't a big deal.

"Let's just say the invented the maker of a very famous beverage." Clary's brow furrowed, but before she could ask another question, Jace had his lips pressed against hers, swiping his tongue across her lower lip, asking for access which Clary gleefully granted. His distraction had worked. He had rendered her speechless. Before Clary knew it, Jace broke away, and she felt an odd weight hanging against her breast bone. Looking down, she saw a necklace there. It was gold, formed into the shape of two interlocking hearts. It was edged with diamonds, and Clary fingered it gingerly. "I saw this, and I thought it perfectly described how I felt for you. You forever have a piece of my heart, Clary. Nothing can ever change that."

Clary, tears threatening to spill over, threw her arms around this man, this perfect, loving man, and burrowed her face into his neck as his lips peppered hers with kisses. "Jace?" she murmured against his warm flesh.

"Hmmm?" he buzzed, the sensation sending shockwaves up her spine, nearly paralyzing her ability to speak.

She mustered all her strength and focus, moving her face so that their lips were just a whisper apart, touching but again not touching. She looked into his steady golden eyes. "I love you, too."

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><p><em>Ooh La La by Britney Spears was my inspiration. Fun, upbeat, kind of sassy. Yep, just like me in a way ;) So anyways, Tackling Destiny next? Any objections? No? Well, alrighty then! :) Umm...I started a FictionPress story. My pen name is BallinBlonde21 and it's titled <span>Blackened Soul<span>_. (It's about werewolves!) Check it out, please? That would make my day! And so would a review! Thanks for reading, Lovelies!

All my love ~ BallinBlonde21


	16. Confessions and Phone Calls

_Hello, my lovely readers! :) I'm baaack again. And to those of you who believe I abandoned my account, I WOULD NEVER. Let's just say a July where I've been all over the beautiful USA (with **no **wifi I might add) has allowed me ZERO time to update. Got back about a week ago and spend it catching up with friends and getting everything in order and whatnot...and school starts soon...booo...but that means...MORE UPDATES! YAY YOU GUYS (random note: I got a stuffed owl from Kansas and it's eyes are really big and it's just staring me down right now...creepy...) But anyways...enjoy this update that I typed up literally in an hour, so if it sucks...I'm sorry...if you love it...I'm not sorry. But it's time for some DRAMAAAAAA (just like **friggen school will be in all of two weeks! **Can you tell I'm **reallyyyyy **excited...not)... Just a little warning. Anyways...enjoy my lovelies :)_

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><p>"Testarossa!" an impatient voice called from the other side of the heavy bathroom door. "I've grown a beard equivalent to those men from Duck Dynasty just waiting here for you!" Clary rolled her eyes and flipped off the door, knowing that he couldn't see her.<p>

"You're a jerk, Jace," she called back, hoping the entire gas station didn't hear their sweet exchange. They were somewhere in Wyoming, and the air was bitterly cold, the trees barren. A few stray snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. Clary had never been out of the state of New York, and even with the approaching winter draining the vibrant colors of fall, she still seemed to find beauty in everything around her. She flushed the repulsive toilet with the toe of her sneaker and washed her hands, making sure to sing the alphabet twice. She did _not_ want to catch a disease.

"Testarossaaaa!" Jace whined as she whipped open the door, catching him a little in the nose. She smirked at him.

"Karma's a biznatch," was all she said as she strode back out to Jace's car. She was thankful for the winter coat Jace had purchased for her back in Ohio as the cold bit her cheeks and her fingers. Wind whipped to loose curls around her face, and Clary desperately tried to restrain them with her pins. She slid into the passenger seat, grumbling about being a curly-haired monster.

Jace's seatbelt clicked into its catch as he whispered, "But you're _my_ curly-haired monster." He dusted a light kiss across her atrocious head and began to drive away. Clary's heart fluttered and her fingers automatically reached up to the hearts hanging on her neck. "I think I'll call you Red Fury," Jace mused to the windshield, earning a hard slap on the arm. "Definitely Red Fury."

They'd been on the road for almost two weeks, stopping at random, and sometimes very sketchy, tourist locations, slowly meandering westward. To the outside world, they appeared as nothing more than a young couple out for an afternoon. Little did anyone know that they were both running from the pasts, sprinting headlong into their unknown future as they tried to forget the wrong that had been done to them.

Clary hadn't really talked to her family. She'd ignored calls from Jocelyn and Luke. Sebastian hadn't bothered to call his sister, and Clary knew he was just as angry as she was, though she couldn't bring herself to hit the call button every time she dialed his number. Simon had called, and Clary had answered, but they only chatted for a few minutes, mostly so Simon knew that Clary was alive and well. Even though their hazardous relationship hadn't worked out, Clary and Simon still loved each other, though it was definitely the platonic type. Isabelle had called and yelled at her and Jace both: at Clary for running away and not telling her and at Jace for seducing her friend into a road trip. This gave the pair a much needed laugh as Isabelle continued to rant at them both. Other than that, she'd dropped all contact with everyone. Not that she had many friends.

Clary was lulled into a sense of calm as snow flew around them, the white specks landing and melting instantly against the ground. Her mind drifted to thoughts of Jace. Slowly he'd explained his entire childhood to her, each story worsening with the next. He'd been beat, cut, trained to exhaustion, nearly starved to death, kicked outside in the dead of winter. He'd never known his father, witnessed his own mother's murder, and then been raised by the killer himself. Clary shivered at the images in her mind. She'd listened with a quiet caution, her expression guarded with each word he said. She'd known at the slightest sight of shock, Jace would close off completely to her. She'd held his hand as he refused to cry, stared in awe at the steadiness of his honey-colored eyes. They weren't blazing with hatred. They weren't hard with denial or soft with sadness. They were simply calm, shining with a solid acceptance. Acceptance of his brutal past, of the man who raised him, of where his life was headed. And Clary envied him for it. Why could she not call up her mom and say, "Mother, I forgive you."? Why did she cry out in the night to the brother she never knew instead of to the brother she had. Why couldn't she just accept her life as it was and move on? _Because I'm not strong enough. That's why_, she thought as her green eyes watched the blurred brown outside the window. She couldn't just let it go because she was afraid. Afraid of the man she didn't remember, the one she didn't know. She was afraid of him, afraid that he would come after her. Afraid of the world around her. She was just afraid.

"Jace," she said, reaching over and grabbing his arm with a grip so tight her knuckles turned white. She saw his golden irises melt in concern as her lip quivered. In the rearview mirror, she could see her skin had become pasty white, her eyes darting around in fear. "Can we…just…stop for the night?" She received a quizzical look at the a slow nod from the driver, as he hit the nearest exit and sped to the nearest motel. It was only one o'clock in the afternoon, but Clary just needed to stop. She needed to sort her life out now, or she would never be able to.

She snatched her purse and duffle bag from the backseat as Jace parked and went to book a room. She stumbled almost drunkenly after him, eyes scanning the area for any threat. Jace returned to her side with a key, ushering her to the room that would be theirs for the next twenty-four hours. He helped her inside and let her sink onto the bed, her eyes staring mindlessly into the distance as he unlaced her sneakers and tugged them off. She was waiting for him to snap at her, to demand that she tell him everything, but like always, Jace surprised her by helping her stretch out across the mattress and sliding next to her, clasping her petite hands in one of his and drawing it to his lips. "Do you want to talk about it, baby?" he asked her through golden eyelashes, his gaze so warm and compassionate that Clary felt compelled to crash her lips to his and forget everything that was troubling her.

She didn't though, of course. She tugged one hand from his grip and threw her arm over her eyes. Jace, of all people, would not judge her for her father. He would be the one person who would understand. The one that might help her understand, guide her through. She drew in a deep breath, blinking back her fears as she plunged into the past she barely knew about, slowly articulating every word, concentrating as they rolled off her tongue in order to keep her tears at bay.

She talked about how her entire childhood had been completely fabricated, a lie. She expressed the anger she felt inside. She kept her eyes off Jace during her speech, not wanting to knew what he was thinking as she told him that her father left her for dead. Finally, as her voice drifted off to silence, she peered up through her eyelashes at Jace, whose expression was completely unreadable. "I'm scared, Jace," she admitted in a squeaky voice, chewing her lower lip. "I'm scared that he'll come back for me, for my mom, for Seb. And there's going to be absolutely _nothing_ I can do to stop him." She was shivering, and Jace's arms snaked around her, holding her firmly to his chest, burying his face into auburn curls.

"He won't be able to touch you, Testarossa," he growled into her hair. "I won't let him touch a hair on your head." His tone was full of confidence and finality. Clary knew he wasn't going to back down from a fight. She nuzzled her face into his chest and sighed, the crippling fear draining from her veins, being replaced with something that felt a lot like hope.

She suddenly was overrun with the extreme urge to kiss him, and this time she yielded to it, giving in and letting her desire take control. She lifted herself off Jace and before he could ask her what was wrong, her mouth descended on his, swallowing his question completely. His hands settled on her hips as she straddled his waist, twining her fingers into his locks. She was heated, panting heavily as Jace flipped them over. Now hovering above her, he broke their kiss, peppering her face with warm pecks, his lips brushing lightly along her jawbone, teasing her. "Jace…" Clary breathed out huskily, moving her fingers to the hemline of his shirt and pulling it over his head.

She'd expected him to freeze up, the way he always did, self-conscious of the scars even though Clary had seen them numerous times. But he didn't, he gently pushed her hands aside and stripped it of quickly and smoothly before returning his lips to hers. This was where they usually stopped, kissing wildly as Clary's fingers retraced the memorized pattern of Jace's skin, as Jace's own fingers remained buried into the mattress. But tonight, this didn't satisfy Clary. She wanted more, so much more that it hurt. She burned with need and lust and her heart was driven by love. She grabbed either side of her shirt and pulled, popping the buttons open and revealing the pink lace bra beneath. Jace's eyes flew open at the sound of the buttons, and his mouth froze on hers. She knew Jace had been much farther than this. All the way, in fact, and though it didn't bother her that she wouldn't be his first, it bothered her that right now, he was hesitating. Did he not want her as much as she wanted him? Dammit, she wasn't even undressed yet! She pressed herself closer to the boy, but he remained as still as stone, hands fisting the bedspread on either side of her thigh.

"Jace," Clary murmured feverishly, trying to twist herself closer to the statuesque boy. He didn't respond, barely even breathed as she attempted to jumpstart him. It didn't work. Finally, she collapsed dejectedly back onto the bed, refastening the buttons on her shirt. Jace's eyes were locked on hers, though he refused to move an inch. "I should have known," she whispered wriggling herself from beneath Jace so she rested a foot to the left of him, teetering on the edge of the bed to put as much space as possible between them.

The bedsprings groaned and the mattress bounced as Jace moved, snuggling up closely to Clary's back. "Clary…"

"Save it, Jace!" she snapped, wrenching herself from his grasp. "I should have never told you! Now you pity me! You think I'm this…this…broken little girl that needs to be coddled. Well, guess what, Jace! I'm a legal adult! I can think for myself! I know what I want!" She was screaming, her face red with embarrassment and anger.

"Clary, I wasn't trying to—"

"What you were _trying_ to do, Jace, is decide what's best for me, and you know what, I'm sick of it! My mother hid my _entire_ life from me because it was 'what was best for me,'" she inserted air quotes around that, her breath releasing in angry puffs.

"No, Clary, I wasn't trying to tell you what's best for you. I want to just as much as you do." As if to solidify his point, he gestured toward the rather obvious lump in his jeans. "I just, really don't know if the timing is right. I mean, do you really want your first time to be on a hotel mattress in the middle of Wyoming?" He reached up and brushed a curl from her face, tucking it lovingly behind her ear.

She sighed heavily. As much as she hated it, he was right. She collapsed once again into his arms as he placed a kiss on her cheek. "Can we at least kiss some more?" Before she even finished the question, Jace was once again floating above her, lips crashing down on hers.

X.O.X.O.X

Clary woke to her phone chiming. She saw her mother's name on the screen and checked the boy beside her, who was still fast asleep and snoring slightly. She slipped out from underneath his arm and stepped over to the window, peeking through the blinds and seeing a snowstorm raging outside. _Great_, she thought as she flipped open her phone. "Listen, Mom," she started before even saying hello. "I just want to say that I forgive you for everything—"

"Silly, naïve, Clarissa," a male voice sneered from the other end. Clary's blood immediately froze as her grip tightened around the device in her hand. "You'd forgive your mother for not telling you about me? For never mentioning that you had a brother? For letting you believe Luke was your father?" the man scoffed, laughing menacingly after his rant.

"I have no idea what you are talking—"

"Oh, save it, my little Clarissa." Clary silenced herself, stealing another look at the boy slumbering shirtless in bed, at the scars that decorated his back, at the black tattoos that intermingled with the red. "I've been watching you grow up. I've been biding my time in the shadows, waiting for just the right moment to pounce."

Clary's breath hitched in her throat. Was he here right now? Outside the window? She didn't dare peep through the blinds again. "That time is upon us, Clarissa. And now, you must choose whether to side with me, or watch those you love die." There was a scream in the background and the muffled noise of the man telling the person to shut up, or he'd cut them again. Clary suppressed a scream.

"I would _never_ side with you, Valentine," she spat, growling his name like a cuss word.

"Ah, ah, ah," he sing-songed, chuckling at some inside joke he had with himself. "You think I'd make this proposition without a little…shall we say…insurance, hmmm? Well, then clearly, my daughter, you underestimate me." With that, Clary heard another shout, one that was definitely feminine. She gasped.

"Don't do it, Clary!" she heard her mother cry, and there was a cracking noise as Valentine must have slapped her. Clary sputtered tears beginning to fall.

"Oh, yes, Clary, that is right. I have your mother. And she is not dead…yet. But you have my word that if you don't join me in four days, I _will_ murder her slowly. And enjoy it." The phone clicked and the line went dead. It slipped from between her fingers as she fell to her knees, eyes wide and unblinking with shock.

"Mmmm, Testarossa?" Jace murmured, searching for her in the bed, awakening. He shot straight up when she wasn't there, and his eyes fell on her form huddled by the window. "Testarossa?" he inquired, standing up from the bed, face set in a look of worry. She shifted to look up at him.

"I think…" she started, licking her dry lips. "I think I just got a call from my father."

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><p><em>Questions? Comments? Suggestions? Lay it on me! And if you like sparkly unicorns...let's be best friends :) <em>

_All My Love (and cupcakes), Lovelies_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	17. To Love or To Lose

_Why Hello there my lovelies! Extra long update and extra kisses for you all! xxx Thank you, Serenity Shadowstar for the suggestion. Why...you've nearly guessed my whole plot! Am I that predictable? Oh Well...I hope you enjoy this little update here. Kinda fluffy...possibly rated M...idk...read with caution ;) Like most times...written and not reread, so please, overlook any errors. :) Anyways...enjoy!_

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><p>"I'm going with you," Jace stated after Clary repeated her brief phone conversation to him, his face morphing seamlessly from a rigid composure to outright fury. Clary looked at him in shock, his golden hair a messy halo atop his head, his molten gaze burning through her like lava, his strong jaw set with resolution. His muscles were flexed, tight, ready to pounce on anything that so much as inched toward Clary, and she thought that it was absolutely beautiful. Her countering words were lost with her ability to breathe.<p>

Abruptly, he turned on his heel, effectively cutting off any opposing argument she might have been able to muster. He bustled about the room, gathering up their few belongings before depositing them into the black duffle bag they shared. The zipper cut through the thick silence as he closed the bag, hitching it up on his shoulder. Without a word, he flew out the door, leaving Clary to chase after his retreating figure. "Jace!" she called to him, trying to avoid his seductive and mesmerizing gaze. The trunk slammed, revealing a very different Jace. His expression wasn't angry. It wasn't kind or caring. It wasn't passionate or protective. It just wasn't. He was completely and utterly expressionless, the planes of his face smooth, eyes wide but not bright, eyebrows not pulled together nor raised. The Jace she'd seen before being trampled by the car, the one she'd viewed through drunken eyes, the one who'd played the piano for her—he was gone. The one so open and caring and loving, he wasn't there. She'd gotten so used to seeing him stripped entirely raw of his fierce demeanor that this Jace was almost…frightening.

She reached out to touch him, expecting him to lean into her touch, but he did the opposite. He moved away from her, almost flinched at the thought of her touching him. She swallowed her dejection and quietly asked, "Don't you even want to talk about—"

"No." His tone was clipped, and he turned away from her, slipping into the driver's seat, visibly shaking the car with the force he used to slam his door. Clary stood in her spot, dumbfounded, and completely overcome with a vicious rage. She tried counting backward from ten, tried the breathing techniques she'd learned in school, tried everything in the book to calm herself down, but nothing was working. And when she opened her eyes to see Jace looking at her expectantly out the window, she saw red.

"Dammit, Jace Herondale!" she screamed, her voice raising an entire octave and her hands clenching into fists. She stomped over to him and yanked the car door open. "This isn't your fight. I won't let you do this!" She was shaking. "Quit trying to boss me around like you know what's best for me! You don't, Jace! You really don't." Her voice dropped at the end, her hands rising up and falling dejectedly back to her sides. Jace continued to stare blankly at her, his gaze unreadable, though his knuckles on the steering wheel were white with strain. Clary huffed. "Jace," she said in a calmer tone, "I won't let you throw yourself into this fight. It's not yours. It's mine."

Jace's hands slipped from the steering wheel, and he was suddenly cupping her face in both of his rough, beat-up hands, caressing her cheeks with his calloused thumbs and looking at her with all the love and protectiveness and care that had been missing. "Clary," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers and fanning his warm breath over her face. " I would _die_ for you. Don't you realize that?" Clary sighed, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

"I'm not asking you to die for me, Jace." She inhaled, breathing in what could only be described as Jace. An aroma that was manly laced with confidence and compassion, a scent that was purely and distinctively Jace, one that she didn't want to forget. Ever. "That's why I'm going alone." Jace's hand stilled where it had been playing with a rogue curl. She felt his body tense and his heartbeat increase.

"No." The single syllable was dripping with finality, something that almost made Clary fearful to argue. But she had to. She wouldn't let Jace wind himself into this mess, even though he seemed willing enough. She abruptly stepped out of his embrace, opening her mouth to speak, hating herself for what she was about to say. Jace cut her off before she even breathed in. "Don't even try that 'I don't even love you' bullshit because I know you, Clary. I know you do. You're not going to fool me." Her teeth clattered as she shut her mouth tightly. Why did he have to be right all the time?

She tried again, pushing away his arms as he reached out to her. "Jace, trying to be all heroic will get you killed! It will take you away from me forever! This isn't a freaking movie, Jace! My tears won't be able to bring you back!" She crumpled onto the dirty pavement of the parking lot, huffing through her teeth, forcibly building a dam to hold back the wellspring of tears forming in her eyes. "Don't you even see what that will do to me, Jace? I need you! Don't you even care?!"

Strong arms lifted her to her feet and held her tightly against a broad, warm chest. Jace quietly shushed her, whispering soft things in her ears, sweet things that were lost in the roaring of her ears. "Clary, I would rather die than lose you. I would rather my life end than yours. If you go there and don't come back, do you know what I would become?" Clary sniffled. "I'd be a zombie, Clary. Living but not really alive." He brushed a traitor tear from her cheek with a kiss. "You are my life, and if I lose you and know I didn't even try, God Clary, I'd have lost everything." Clary wound her arms around his waist and held him tightly, nodding her head fiercely and letting him lead her to the passenger seat. He buckled her in and placed a chaste kiss on her lips before slipping into the seat next to her.

It was the loudest silence Clary had ever heard. The tires grinded down the whirlwind of highways, spinning at top speed as Jace expertly maneuvered the muscle car in and out of traffic, detouring around rush hours and speeding through small, unknown towns. Somehow, the cops stayed away from them, as if they sensed the sheer urgency of the situation.

Clary's mind wasn't on the road, of course. If she'd have been driving, they'd have been in the ditch about seven times by now, her mind completely encompassed by one face. She had to go alone. She couldn't let Jace come with, _wouldn't_ let Jace come with. It was something that she had to do. Her eyes wandered to the blonde beside her. He didn't notice, his eyes intently focused on the asphalt before them, mind intent on getting them to their destination. Clary's heart swelled. She knew behind that hard exterior was an innocent boy, broken by the past, hopeful of the future. She knew that she had to give him that future, and the only way would be to not allow him to come with. Her gaze snapped back to the windshield as golden eyes shifted to her direction. Nobody said a word. Not even the radio could fill the heavy silence between them.

Dusk settled around them, and somehow, Jace had managed to bring them all the way to Illinois. "Let's stop for the night, Jace," Clary murmured, seeing how low his eyelids hung. He put up a weak argument, until Clary steered them onto the nearest exit.

The motel room they rented was dingy. The toilet rocked back and forth when they sat on it, and the shower tiles were coated in a heavy layer of grime. The carpet had its fair share of stains, one that Clary and Jace preferred not to know the origins of as the treaded lightly around the room. The lights flickered and went out as soon as Jace flipped the switch. "Dammit," he cursed.

After carefully removing the plastic-y duvet cover, Clary fell into bed with all her clothes on, more emotionally exhausted than physically. "Jace, come spoon me," she said in a giggly voice, satisfied by the warm presence behind her. She felt him place warm kisses on the back of her neck and electricity sparked up and down her spine. "I love you," she whispered into the darkness, pressing herself as close to him as possible.

"I love you, too," he murmured into her ears. "Sweet dreams, Testarossa."

The pair slept until the sun was high in the sky, blazing down on the cool world with a burning glory. "Clary," Jace mumbled as he stirred in his sleep, shifting behind Clary and waking her. She'd slept fitfully anyway, tossing and turning, crying out into the night. It was a wonder that Jace had not woken when she'd clenched his shirt to make sure he was still there. She smoothed her hair and poked the slumbering boy beside her. He didn't move.

The room reeked of mold and the curtains billowed from the air of the heater, further adding to the pungent scent. Clary wanted nothing more than to leave. "Jaceeeee," she whined, rocking his toned body back and forth. He inhaled sharply, and his eyes popped open as he seized Clary's wrist. He looked wild, ready to attack. Clary removed her wrist from his grasp and rubbed the red finger marks.

He looked shocked by himself. "I'm…I'm sorry, Clary." He slowly backed away from her with his hands raised, eyes wide and regretful. She tried to assure him that it was okay, but he didn't seem to hear her as he made his way out to the car.

"Jace…" Clary whispered after an hour of silence. He hummed lightly in response, his jaw still set, his eyes still flaring with self-hatred. "were you dreaming about…_him_?" Jace's hands tightened, but to her surprise, he looked at her, nodding. His gaze was filled with so much remorse, so much fear, it made her stomach hurt with sadness. She took his tense hand in hers, holding it tightly. "It will all be okay, Jace."

X.O.X.O.X

Sixteen hours later, the car was just outside of the state of New York. The stars were bright in the night sky, city lights not obstructing them yet. "Jace," Clary murmured sleepily, or what she hoped sounded sleepily, "can we stop for one more night? I just…wanna get prepared before….you know…everything." Silently, Jace pulled onto an exit, the car speeding into the nearest city. She hoped she'd played her part perfectly.

She'd been devising this plan since she'd buckled herself into the car, and her heart ached as she had to put it into motion. Would this break him? Would she crack his fragile surface even more than his stepfather had? She forced away those thoughts, watching as a tall hotel towered before her. "Jace?" she asked, gazing up in wonder. It was a five-star hotel, she concluded as Jace handed his keys over to the valet. They definitely stuck out here, with their dirty, tired appearance.

"I just wanted to treat you tonight," he responded, quietly adding, "We can have separate rooms if you'd like." Clary shook her head vigorously from side to side, watching her plan slowly crumble in her mind as she struggled to collect the pieces and reinforce it. This had to be done, whether he brought her to a fancy hotel or not. "Good."

The room was beautiful, with a big, white, fluffy kind sized bed and golden embellishments throughout the room. There was a Jacuzzi bathtub and a shower big enough to fit five people, Clary looked around in wonder, fiddling with the heart at her throat. "You can take a shower first," Jace offered, and she mutely nodded in response. She'd never seen anything so amazing.

She stripped herself of her clothes and stepped into the steamy spray, letting the hot droplets sooth her sore muscles. She lathered herself with the lavender soap the hotel provided and relished in the lovely feeling of the dirt washing away. She imagined it washing away her regrets and her fears. She imagined her insecurity and trepidation swirling down the drain. It was rejuvenating.

Stepping out, she dried herself with the biggest towel she'd ever seen and swaddled herself in one of the hotel bathrobes. She stepped into the bedroom, seeing Jace laying on the bed, hair wet and curling to the sides of his face, a few water droplets still clinging to his bare chest. He only wore a towel around his waist as he flipped through the channels on the plasma screen T.V., leaving his beautiful scars on full display. She sat there momentarily, following the lines she'd memorized over the past few months, wanting nothing more than to trace them with her lips, to making him forget the way he felt about them. But she couldn't, not now. Clary cleared her throat. Jace's sad eyes found hers as he lowered the remote. "I could sleep on the floor…" he said, dropping his gaze to the ground. Clary shook her head and slowly lay down next to him, stretching out her cramped muscles. She shifted as Jace pulled the blankets up over them both, and she closed her eyes as he turned out the lamp. Her chest ached. Could she really go through with this? Her heart slammed against her ribs as Jace reached out to her, pulling her into the warm circle of his arms. She felt his warm lips press a kiss on the top of her curls.

His soft snore floated around the room a few minutes later, the comforting and familiar sound now setting Clary on edge. This was it. It was time. She wriggled, trying to get out of his grasp, but she was surprised to find that Jace only held her closer. She tried again, only to be wrangled back in by his warm, muscled arms. She let out a loud, frustrated sob after fifteen minutes of this. She needed to get away from him for his own good. She would be his ruin! And yet, he was always pulling her back to him, cradling her closer than before. "Clary?" Jace asked into the darkness, his hands running along the soft robe she was wearing. "Are you alright, Sweetheart?" Clary lost all her resolve.

Her lips sought out his in the darkness, and they collided. Jace let out a surprised hiccup, but soon wound his fingers into her hair, losing himself as much as she did. It was the clashing of teeth and the biting of lips. It was the swirling of tongues and the capturing of moans. They twisted themselves together, becoming a tangle on the bed. Clary couldn't help it when her frantic hands traced the towel along his firm waist, reaching to undo it, merely millimeters away before Jace's calm hands stilled her shaking ones. "Clary…" It was more of a moan than a negative, and Clary again tried to remove the fabric that covered what she longed to see. She squeaked in surprise when Jace was no longer there. "Clary," he said firmly, though huskily. Clary groaned in frustration, flinging herself back onto the pillows. "Are you sure this is the right time?"

She turned her sharp green eyes on him, narrowed in anger and lust. Her fiery red hair fanned out around her like a flame as she yelled. "Dammit, Jace! I want you!" She was breathing heavily as her eyes softened, widening as they gazed up at him. In a quiet voice she added, "I want _you_. Who cares where? Who cares about tomorrow or the next day? Who cares? All I know is that I want you, and that's the only thing I've been sure of in a long time." She sighed at the end of her sentence, throwing an arm over her face to try to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. Did she really just admit that?

"Clary, you know that I'm not a virgin," Jace's pained voice said, still too far away for her taste. Of course she knew that. She'd never really thought about it until now. Would she even compare, could she satisfy him like the other girls had been able to? Jace mistook her silence for distaste. "I'm sorry. I can't change that."

"It doesn't bother me, Jace." Their gazes locked, and suddenly, Jace was back in her arms, kissing her feverishly with a newfound vigor. This time, as she reached for the towel, nothing restrained her from pulling it away and casting it to the floor. She gazed at his completely exposed body, the golden rays that seemed to emanate from every part of his perfection. He kissed her again, reaching out to unweave the knot of her robe.

"Are you sure," he asked when it was undone, holding together the sides of her robe with one hand.

"Positive," she breathed against his lips, allowing to push the robe down her shoulders and let it join his towel on the floor. His eyes drank her in as his lips followed their burning trail.

"You're beautiful," he murmured, his hands exploring and memorizing every inch of her. With one look, he rid her of the insecurity she clung to, of the shyness she always felt. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed away the tears she was crying as she felt his love wash over her, as she remembered what she had to do to him.

"I love you, Jace." She twined her fingers into his hair and let him take her down the road she'd never gone.

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><p><em>Uh Oh...what is Clary going to do to Jace? Hmmmmm...guess you'll have to wait and find out... ;) and for those of you pining for more description about their romantic rendezvous, GET YOUR MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER! Just kidding...maybe something can be arranged...we'll see...anyways...review? :)<em>

_All my love, lovelies_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	18. Life or Death

_Sorry it's short, but another one will be posted tonight. My internet has been down and it got fixed today! Yay! This story may or may not end tonight depending on my ambition :) But one more is coming. So enjoy._

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><p>Jace woke peacefully, a smile plastered to his face, curled into a ball. He blindly searched the bed for the sheet, pulling it higher over his naked frame. "Good morning, beautiful," he cooed. Eyes closed, he reached out toward the redhead beside him, confused when his hand collided with the mattress. It was cold. The serenity was shattered as his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright. She wasn't there. Her clothes had disappeared from where they'd lain next to his. "Clary?" he called out, wincing at the hoarseness in his voice. He heard the shower running from the bathroom and immediately sighed in relief. He tugged on his clothes and knocked on the door, patiently awaiting a response. One never came.<p>

Panic returned as Jace burst through the door. Had she fallen and hit her head? Was she drowning in the bathtub? He yanked back the shower curtain to find the steamy water running over emptiness. "DAMMIT!" he yelled, loud enough to awaken the entire hotel. I reached for his keys where they'd been on the nightstand, finding them. He cursed again, snatching his wallet and Clary's forgotten cell phone and sprinting from the room. He slammed his hand down on the concierge's desk, startling a small squeal from her. "Nearest bus station," he commanded. "Now." She furrowed her brow. Certainly someone staying at this nice of a hotel didn't need to take the bus, but she didn't dare voice her thoughts.

"Two blocks east," she squeaked out. Jace took off running again, not bothering to check out as he sprinted the short distance to his destination. Had he been in his right mind, he'd make a joke to himself about his sexy athleticism, but now was not the time. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited for the lady to check busses to New York.

"The next one leaves in ten minutes, sir." Jace scrubbed his hands over his face, asking for the nearest car rental service. "There isn't one for miles," the clerk said, snapping her gum impatiently. "So do you want the ticket or not." Out of options, Jace purchased it, pushing his way to the front, sighing in relief as the bus arrived five minutes early. It was an hour and a half ride, one that Jace was sure would drag on. How far ahead of him was she? He shoved his hands into his coat pocket, feeling an unfamiliar paper inside. The bus groaned as it pulled away, heading toward the person Jace needed most. With shaky hands, he unfolded the not, written on the paper provided by the hotel.

_Jace_, it said in shaky script.

_I know that you don't understand why I'm doing this. You just have to trust me. I __**can't**__ let this man, my father, hurt you. I can't let you die because of me. But I also can't let my mother die. I'm sorry that it has come to this. I'm sorry that I left you. What I did last night, it was selfish. I know that there's a chance that I won't be coming back, that I won't see you again, and I just…I just need you…needed to share that experience with you. I love you more than you can ever imagine, and because of that, I can't allow you to lay your life on the line for mine. I want you to live a long, happy life, Jace. I can't be the reason it's cut short. I hope one day you can forgive me, and I know that even if we don't meet again on this earth, in this lifetime, we __**will**__ see each other again someday. I love you, Jace._

There were spots of water on the page, falling onto the smudged ink as Jace cried over the note, the same way Clary had.

X.O.X.O.X

The room was enveloped in darkness. Clary's body was tingling from Jace's touch, alive with a burning fire as Jace slumbered peacefully beside her. She set her jaw and closed her eyes. The time had come. With all the willpower she could muster, she untangled herself from the warm embrace of her true love, sliding into the clothes that had been discarded beside his. She'd gotten a text that morning, telling her to meet Valentine in the basement of Pandemonium, the place where she and Jace had pretty much started. Oh the irony. She reached over and flicked the desk lamp on, checking to make sure Jace was still asleep. She snatched the pen and paper that were provided and quickly scrawled a note, her tears silently smudging her words as the last few sentences flowed from the tip of the pen. She hated herself for doing this. She hadn't planned on what happened last night, but her selfishness and greed took control. She couldn't go into this suicide situation without having Jace that way, without experiencing him fully. And that was purely for her gain. She knew it would tear him up inside.

With a deep breath, she crept up beside him and slipped the keys from the bedside table, wincing at the jangling noise they made. The boy didn't stir, and Clary's heart shattered. "Goodbye, Jace," she whispered into the darkness, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead. She turned to go, before looking over her shoulder. "I love you," she added softly before closing the door behind her.

She jammed the keys into the ignition and stepped on the gas. She had to get there before Jace woke, had to make sure that Valentine was gone before Jace was even within range. The highway seemed to disappear around her as she sped toward New York, somehow avoiding all cops along the way. She pulled up to Pandemonium all too quickly and reached into her pocket for her cell phone. She just had to hear his voice one more time, even if it was the recording of his voicemail. It wasn't there. She decided it was a sign, that talking to Jace, hearing his brokenness, his disappointment, would shatter her courage, ruin her plan. She slammed Jace's car door, leaving the keys beneath the gas cover.

Pandemonium looked creepy in the morning. Deserted. Nobody waited outside, bribing the bouncer to get inside. The colorful lights that flashed out the door were turned off, leaving a dark building on a corner lot. Clary cringed at the echoing sound her footsteps made as she pushed through the broken door. She searched for stairs to the basement. For a back door marked for employees. For anything, but came up short. She cried out in frustration right before she felt the pain of a knife sliding along her side. "I knew you'd come, Clarissa. I knew you couldn't resist your daddy."

Clary gasped as his face came into view. Black, seductive eyes, snow white hair. Her father was a walking contrast. From a distance, his face had a soft attractiveness, one that would make him seem approachable, like he was a guy you wanted to be your friend, but up close, the malice and ruthlessness was visible in the endless midnight orbs. They seemed to swim with demons, seemed to cut you with a look. Clary felt the warm blood soak into her shirt. "Where's…mom…." She grunted, softly through her panting breaths.

"Ah, right to the point. You really are my daughter. You don't like to stall." He steered her toward a door, pressing the blade into her back to keep her from moving. "You're mother is down here," he said, opening a door and exposing a pitch-black staircase. Before Clary could say a word, Valentine pushed her down the steep stairs and slammed the door behind her.

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><p><em>Well, well, well. Valentine. Hmm...What's going to happen next?<em>


	19. Not a Happy Ending

_Let's just say I just typed this. Literally started after the last update. ANNND I didn't reread it. Sorry if there are loads and loads of mistakes. I tried to post it as fast as possible. So here you go, your second update in one day. Lucky you ;) haha enjoy_

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><p>Jace was the first off the bus, flying into the busy New York traffic without worrying about how he was bumping into or whether they were okay. Jace saw Clary had gotten a text a 3 in the morning to meet Valentine at Pandemonium, so that was his first destination. He wove his way through downtown, having memorized the way long ago, in a past life, when he lived for the party and the attention. Now he only lived for the girl, and he couldn't let her die. He just couldn't. He needed her. She had maneuvered her way into his steel-plated heart and sewed together the brokenness of all that he was. She made him feel alive. And he couldn't lose that. He couldn't return to the boy he was. He couldn't lose another person that he loved. He shoved aside the memory of his mother's glassy eyes, of her unmoving face.<p>

He was already hours behind her. He could feel it. He urged his legs to move faster, his arms to pump harder. Left, right, left right. His chest was on fire, his lungs barely able to inhale, but he didn't slow down, didn't yield to the pain. He needed her. Needed her in his arms. Needed her to be okay. He skidded around a corner, speeding up when his destination came into view. One hundred feet. Fifty feet. Twenty-five feet. He hurdled through the door of the building as a bloodcurdling scream pierced his ears.

X.O.X.O.X

Clary ground her teeth as the knife plunged into her thigh. Over the past few hours, Clary had found that it was easier to deal with the pain if she didn't allow it to hurt her. She didn't think, didn't move, didn't few. It was almost as if she were already dead. Her mother was limp in the corner, her head lolled to one side as her arms were shackled to the wall behind her.

"Clarissa. You will not disrespect me in that manner. Ever. Do I make myself clear?" Clary didn't look at him, didn't respond, didn't even give the slight inclination that she was listening. She'd stopped conversing with him when he refused to release her mother.

_"I came!" she had cried. "What more do you want from me?"_ _He'd grinned wickedly as he clamped the shackles around her wrists and ankles. _

_ "My sweet, naïve Clarissa. I love the way that so readily trusted me. It's makes this even more satisfying. I had no idea where you were, no way of tracing you, yet you came to me. The way you thought I'd actually needed you on my side. As if your frailness would be any asset to what I already have. It's just so perfect. Don't you see? You and your mother will both die, and with your honorable death, you will purify the Morganstern bloodline."_

Clary snapped back to present as her father paced over to her mother. He kicked her in the ribs, and she made a noise of pain, followed by spitting blood onto his shoes. "The only reason I don't regret sleeping with you is because I got Clary," she growled as he disgustedly wiped his shoe across her shirt with another kick.

"Your insubordination angers me, Jocelyn," he sneered, reaching in his pocket for his blade and driving it into her shoulder.

"MOM!" Clary cried out, completely forgetting about her vow of silence.

Valentine jeered in her direction. "And as for you. The cleansing of the bloodline begins now." Clary didn't have time to be afraid before the bloodied knife plunged into her stomach. She didn't even hear her mother's scream.

X.O.X.O.X

Jace held a jagged piece of glass in his fist, clinging to it so tightly it drew blood from his palm. It was his only weapon, the only thing he could use to defend Clary. Pandemonium had been vacated. All the furniture was gone. All traces of the old nightclub were gone.

He edged toward the origin of the scream, pressing himself flat against the wall next to the door, surprised when it flew open and nearly hit him in the face. The man who walked out surprised him even more. From behind, he could have just been a stranger, anyone, with blood stains on his clothes and shoes and a knife in his hand, but as Jace caught a glimpse of his profile, rage immediately flooded his chest. Though the brown hair was now blond, Jace could see it. Michael Wayland. His father. The creator of the scars across his skin. "Father," he growled, tucking the glass behind him as Michael whirled to face him.

"Jace," he glowered, holding out the _s_ noise like a snake. "What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing." Michael smirked, venom in his smile.

"That wouldn't be in your best interest."

Jace exploded. "God damn you! You're a f***ing murderer! Don't think for a _second_ that I don't remember the fact that you killed my mom. Don't even kid yourself that every atom in my body doesn't hate you. Do you think I'm stupid?! I _know_ that you're hurting people down there. You have blood on your clothes for God's sake. It's not rocket science." Michael was suddenly in his face, a knife pressed against his throat

"I told you,_ son_," he spat the word as if it were a curse, "it would not be in your best interest to concern yourself with my affairs.

Jace laughed, oddly courageous in this crisis. Clary was down in that basement, alive or dead. She needed Jace, and he'd be damned if the sorry excuse of a man was about to stop him. "You picked the wrong victim, _Valentine_." His eyes grew in shock as Jace said his real name. "You don't get to kill the people I love. Instead, it is you, that will die today." Jace slid the glass into Valentine's back, the spot where if it went in deep enough, it would pierce the heart. Valentine's eyes went wide with shock, and Jace saw something that left him satisfied—betrayal. He let Valentine's body slump to the floor, not waiting long enough to see if he was actually dead. He heard the sirens outside. He'd called the police before coming into the building, and he knew they'd be storming the building shortly. They could take care of Valentine.

He threw himself down the stairs, hurdling headfirst into the darkness. He fumbled for a light switch, finding one and illuminating the horrifying scene. Jocelyn held Clary's head in her lap, as best as she could with both of them shackled to the wall. Clary's eyes were closed, face ghostly pale. Jocelyn was coated in blood, but somehow Jace knew it wasn't all her own. He threw himself down on the floor next to Clary and felt for a pulse. He couldn't find one. His eyes met Jocelyn's, and she confirmed what he already knew. Clary was gone. I slammed his fist into the wall. He wished he'd mutilated Valentine, hurt him so badly that nobody would know it was him. He wished he'd kept him alive and tortured him, seeing the realization of what he'd done play across his features as the life was slowly drawn from him. He'd been too damn humane. He collapsed into a pile next to the two redheads, the ones who looked as if they could be sisters.

"You loved her, didn't you?" Jocelyn asked quietly through tears, her puffy eyes never leaving Clary's still face.

"I still do," Jace said, engulfing Clary's hand in his big one. She was so cold, stiff. He saw her shirt was soaked in blood, the knife wound in her stomach. It was still bleeding. Unthinkingly, Jace removed his shirt and began to bind her wounds. She was so frail, so weak. She didn't deserve this. Jocelyn watched in silence, her shaky breath the only sound in the basement. Tears poured from his eyes, mixing with the blood on his hands as he wiped them away. A raw sob escaped his throat as he buried his face into Clary's curls, releasing his sadness into the red tendrils he loved so much. Jocelyn moved Clary's head into Jace's lap, retreating as far away as possible to give him some privacy. He calmed himself enough to press his cheek to hers.

"I forgive you, Testarossa. I forgive you. Just please. Please come back to me." Another sob broke free of his chest. "You said you wanted me to live a happy life. Clary, I can't be happy without you. I _need _you. Just come back to me, Clary." He brushed some hair off her forehead and placed a kiss on the center of it, his body violently racking with sobs. "It wasn't supposed to be like this, baby. We were supposed to get married, have kids, grow old together." He babbled, wondering where the damn paramedics were. "You can't leave me. Not now. Not ever." He pressed his cheek to her face again and felt something that made his heart flutter. It was the subtlest of motions, but somehow, it gave him hope. Clary's fingers had twitched inside of his.


	20. Never Again

_Three updates?! WHOA WHOA WHOA! haha I just can't stop writing. And I drank a lot of root beer. I like root beer. It makes me happpppyyyyyyy :) ANYWAYS...ENJOY!_

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><p>"Let me go with!" Jace hollered as the paramedics lifted a limp Clary into the ambulance. She was so tiny that they didn't even struggle carrying her up the stairs and outside. They'd folded her bloodied hands across her chest but ignored the fact that several curls had fallen into her eyes. She would have hated that. "Please," he begged, forgetting about his masculinity and giving into the deep agony he felt inside. His tears fell in waves, the lost crashing into him like a tsunami.<p>

The paramedic looked at him sadly, his dark blue uniform soaked in blood. Wasn't that color chosen to better disguise it? "I'm sorry, sir. Unless you're family—"

"Jonathon is her brother," Jocelyn interjected weakly from her own stretcher. "He's my son. I need him with us." The paramedic looked to Jace for confirmation, oblivious to the shock evident in his features. He hauled himself into the back of the emergency vehicle and seated himself on a bench next to Clary's stretcher. Instinctively, he reached out to brush away her curls and rub circles on her thumb as the emergency responders hooked both women up to monitors. It was obvious that Jocelyn was in better shape than Clary, as she fussed about the needles being shoved into her veins. Jace watched as a female EMT tried to sympathize with her, making sure to be as gentle as possible, though still causing Jocelyn to flinch. He watched the line on her heart monitor appear, the steady _beep-beep_ resounding in the small, metal space.

A male paramedic began cutting away the shirt Jace had tied around Clary's torso, along with the shirt Clary was wearing. It took all his willpower to not punch the man in the face. Why couldn't the lady have taken Clary's shirt off and addressed the wounds. It had to be done, he reminded himself sternly as he watched Clary's heart monitor, waiting for the line to appear. Paramedics rushed around Clary, trying to bring her back to life. For the longest time, there was nothing on the monitor. The line was flat, the beep continuous and startling. Jace gritted his teeth. She had to pull through. She just had to. He watched in horror as the paramedics readied the defibrillators, watching Clary's limp body convulse as they pressed it to her gauze covered chest. "Clear!" they said again when it didn't work. Tears stung Jace's eyes as he watched Clary's unmoving body leap off the bed from the electricity. He dropped his face into his hands as they tried one more time to revive his Testarossa. Jocelyn's moans harmonized with the monotonous beep, the morbid orchestra that only mounded atop Jace's pain.

He saw empathy in the eyes of all the ambulance workers as they realized the futile attempt was hopeless, as they recognized that the spirited redhead was lost. Jace felt a hand on his shoulder, and he didn't even bother shrugging it off. _Beeeeeeeeep…_That sound would be forever embedded in his ears, the sight of Clary branded behind his lids, following him everywhere like a shadow of what should have been, of what he should have protected.

Their quick and frenzied relationship played through his mind like an old movie. That first kiss, shrouded by the haze of alcohol and lust. The breathtaking sight of her stretching in the gymnasium. That day in the music room, as Clary sang her insecurities and he bore his entire being in front of her, showing her the embarrassment of her past. Peanut butter and jelly in the hospital. Unplanned car rides to wherever they desired. Her first time. His promises. "_I won't let him touch a hair on your head." _His hands clenched into fists, his fingernails digging into the cut from the glass earlier. He'd promised to keep her safe, to protect her, to always be there for her. _"My tears can't bring you back."_ If only she'd have listened, let him go instead of her. He'd have happily taken her place, wanting nothing more than for her to be well again. _"I'm not asking you to die for me, Jace._" He wished she would have been. He bit his lips and watched his tears run along the grooves in the floor, wishing a paramedic would unhook the heart monitor and relieve him of that terrifying sound.

Without even trying, he conjured up the night in the first hotel with Clary dozing off, snuggled up against his side, warm…alive. He thrust a hand into his hair, pulling at the golden strands. He remembered the feeling of her skin beneath his lips as he kissed her forehead, her eyelids fluttering as she fought the effects of tiredness. He remembered admitting those three little words he'd sworn off forever, having made a silent pact with himself to never give someone that piece of him, to never put himself out like that because he knew it only ended in pain. He looked at Clary's pale feet at the foot of the bed. He knew all too well that love only ended in anguish.

He allowed his eyes to trail up her body, not really wanting to remember her this way. She was always so vibrant, so full of life. He wondered what it would be like to never hear her voice again, to never see her blush or kiss her lips. His eyes focused on a glinting piece of gold hanging around her neck. Two interlocking hearts, somehow completely spotless, not a speck of blood dried on the metal. _"You have a piece of my heart, Clary. Nothing can ever change that."_ And nothing would ever change that, he decided, taking Clary's hand in his own once again. It was so odd that hers didn't automatically weave through his fingers, that the skin was so cold. He pressed a kiss to the back of her pale palm, watching stray tears drop onto her skin. "I love you, Clarissa Fairchild. I love you more than anyone and always will." He rested his forehead against the edge of her stretcher, only just noticing that the ungodly beeping had subsided. Maybe one of the paramedics had unplugged it while he was lost in the past.

He used his free hands to wipe his face before his ears honed in on one sound. _Beep-beep….beep-beep…..beep-beep. The shaky resolve that had just washed over him cracked again with relief as the paramedics once again rushed around Clary, this time helping her stay alive._

X.O.X.O.X

Clary's eyes fluttered open, darkness covering the foreign room. She immediately panicked. Was she in the basement? Where was her mother? She thrashed around until hearing a gentle shushing coming from beside her. Was that…was that Jace? She thrashed even more. "No…No! Jace! You can't be here! He'll kill you, Jace!" She felt warm fingertips wrap around her wrist as a kiss was placed on her lips.

"Shhhh, Testarossa, you'll wake the night nurse." Clary stopped panicking long enough to hear the beeping noise of her heart monitor, to feel the IV in her wrist, to feel the bed beneath her.

"Jace…are we in a hospital?" A low chuckle rolled out of his chest, and Clary looked over to see him in a dark hoodie, sitting in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs with his cell phone in his hand.

"Déjà vu, huh?" Clary nodded silently, assessing herself. Her stomach had a dull ache to it, and her side felt tight. The question about what happened stopped at the edge of her lips. _Valentine_. Her memory crashed against her full force as she succumbed to the darkness of her mind. She gasped as she remembered the sting of the blade in her flesh. Her lip quivered as tears rolled steadily down her face.

"Where's my mom?" was the first question she allowed to escape her mouth. Jace pointed out the door.

"She's down that hallway. She's completely alright. They just had to keep her because they had to make sure the baby was okay."

"Baby?" Clary stammered, and Jace nodded. "I'm going to be a big sister." Another nod. Clary grinned. She'd always wanted to be a big sister. Her amusement faded as another thought crossed her mind. "Jace…I died, didn't I?" She didn't need a verbal answer. The anguish in his golden eyes was enough. She released a shaky breath, holding onto her thin composure. It hurt her stomach to cry, but she just wanted to sob. She wanted to scream and moan and bawl until her insides were raw. She felt a warmth around her hand, and Jace's presence immediately soothed her. His fingers played absently with the red curls, and Clary could just imagine what she looked like.

She probed her mind, clinging to the one voice that had managed to reach her in the darkness. _We were supposed to get married, have kids, grow old together._ A smile played at the edge of her lips, and somehow in the darkness, Jace saw her shift in mood. "What are you thinking about, Red Fury." She frowned.

"Ugh, Jace, moment ruined. I thought we agreed you wouldn't call me that." Jace chuckled.

"Ahhhh, no. You agreed that with yourself, but I am completely unbound by agreement and may call you whatever I wish, Testarossa."

"Whatever, Sunshine," she retorted, wishing that she could cross her arms, but any motion threw her into a fit of agony. Jace frowned playfully.

"That name is not okay. That is too feminine. It's not fair."

"All is fair in love and war, Goldilocks." Jace groaned again, but repeated his first question, causing Clary to blush. For some reason, Jace grinned and kissed all over her reddened cheeks before planting a quick peck on her mouth. "I was just, ya know, thinking." He motioned his hands, silently asking for her to elaborate. "Well, I don't remember much after the…the…you know," she settled on, motioning to her bandaged stomach. "But I remember your voice, talking to me the whole time, and I remember one thing in particular."

"What's that?" he asked calmly, his hand switching from stroking her curls to massaging her scalp. She let her head loll into his hand, relishing in the feeling. She stayed quiet for awhile longer before continuing.

"You said…you said that we were supposed to…get married…have kids…grow old together," she stammered out, biting her lip and dropping her gaze to the bed.

Jace grinned. "Yeah. I did."

Clary's smile was hidden behind a veil of red hair. "Do you…do you really want that, Jace?" She peeked up at him through her eyelashes, as he stood up and lay in the little room left on her bed, carefully taking her into his arms as to not jostle her and cause her pain. She felt safe, secure in his warm embrace as he placed a kiss on the crown of her head.

"Yeah, I really do, Clary, but those things take two people. So it depends. Is that what you want?" She burrowed into his chest, ignoring the protesting of her wounds.

"I want that, Jace." She giggled and grinned against the soft fabric of her sweatshirt. "And I want that with you." Jace kissed at her neck and nuzzled her shoulder.

"I sure hope so. I might have to kill any other man that touched you."

"I might have to kill any other woman that touched you," she agreed, playing with this calloused fingertips, noting the gashes in his palms.

"I could only ever love one other girl as much as I love you. And she will call you 'Mommy,'" he whispered into her ear, making her tingle all over. Her body was warmed by his love, and she sought his lips in the darkness, happy when he met her halfway. She shivered involuntarily and winced in pain, causing Jace to carefully untangle himself from her arms. Before she had a chance to be hurt, Jace stripped the sweatshirt off his body, revealing his tight black t-shirt underneath. "Before I forget, Testarossa," he said, handing her the garment. She gratefully slipped it over her head, careful of all the wires she was connected to. "I remembered that your butt hangs out of the gown, and although that is extremely convenient for me, I remembered your displeasure." Clary giggled, knowing that Jace was completely kidding about the convenience of her hospital gown.

"Last time you brought me peanut butter and jelly," she accused, pointing a finger at him as she slumped in his chair.

"I know, Testarossa," he frowned before bending over and snatching a bag from beneath the chair. "But this time I brought you Chinese!" Clary smiled, clapping her hands like a five-year-old and reaching for the takeout box.

"Lo' Mein," she moaned as she opened it. "My favorite." Jace watched with silent laughter as Clary bypassed the novelty chopsticks and shoveled fork load after fork load into her mouth. "Ghooo," she complimented the foot around a mouthful. Jace's laugh finally broke free and filled the space between them, the sound warming Clary's toes.

"I wasn't kidding about the night nurse, Testarossa. She'd have threatened to kick me out hours ago if I hadn't charmed her with my stunningly good looks." Clary rolled her eyes and continued to fill her mouth with food.

"I'm sure _that's_ what happened, Jace." She grinned knowingly, like she could see that my wallet was missing a fifty. "We can pretend." She contentedly put the empty box on the table next to her bed and sighed.

"You know, Jace Herondale. You also stripped for me last time. You know, put on a little show in your leather, assless chaps." Jace smiled wickedly.

"I was going to try out the American flag thong this time, but shoot, you ruined the surprise."

"Damn," Clary muttered, snapping her fingers. She lay her head back on the pillow and smiled up at Jace. "I feel like we're always in the hospital, with me in the bed and you bribing the nurses to allow you to spend the night."

Jace smiled sadly, brushing a curl away from her face, "Let's promise that this will be the last time." He stuck out his pinky, and Clary gladly wound her own through his.

"Agreed," she said with a yawn, her eyelids fighting to stay open.

"Sleep, my love," Jace cooed, tucking her hair behind her ear, and kissing her temple. Clary scooted over so Jace could join her, and he willingly took her into his arms, never wanting miss a chance to hold her. She snuggled as close as possible, her breath warm and comforting on Jace's neck.

"Will you still be here when I wake up?" she asked, her eyes wide and afraid, as if he could deny her of anything she ever wanted. He'd search the entire world to find her a purple unicorn with butterfly wings if she said she wanted it.

"I couldn't think of anywhere else I'd rather be."

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><p><em>Looks like there's probably only one chapter left...and then if you're really good readersreviewers...a BONUS SCENE! Whoop Whoop! I think this is it for the night, cuz I need to go to bed, with it being monday tomorrow and all. Stupid, stupid mondays. Anyways...Review :)_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	21. Healing

_Last chapter guys... :/ Yeah, I'm sad too...but I made it super long so we get to read lots and lots about our fave couple! I'm going to write another all human fic, one that's very planned out without a super long break in the middle where I forget most of what I was going to write about...oh well...i think it turned out pretty well...so be sure to keep an eye out for my next story...and the sequel to My Love Is Basketball! Basketball season is here...and my birthday is in two days O.o whoa...the year went by fast. Anyways...I typed this up super fast and there's probably tons of errors but I didn't want to keep you awesome fans waiting any longer...with that...ENJOY!_

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><p>Izzy yanked the brush through Clary's curls, ignoring the red ball that gathered on the edge of the bristles. "Isabelle! I'm going to be bald at the end of this!" Isabelle scoffed and pulled another wad of hair from Clary's head.<p>

"Oh, puh-leez, anything is better than this nest atop your head. I mean, seriously, Clary, have you even _heard _of conditioner?" Clary weakly threw a bottle of lotion at her friend, who expertly ducked out of the way. "Nice try." Clary huffed and crossed her arms across her chest, succumbing to Izzy's painful brushing in silence. "Aren't you excited for tonight? We get to go DANCING!" Isabelle did an awkward move in the mirror, somehow mixing the Egyptian and chicken dances. Clary chose to ignore the question, since Clary's answer wouldn't be the one Izzy wanted to hear. She hated going out on the town, especially at the new and improved Pandemonium.

It had been a little over a year since Clary had died in the back of the ambulance, but aside from Jace, Clary's friends knew almost nothing about that night. Her family had decided to keep it on a strictly need-to-know basis. Clary had initially thought this was the best idea, so that nobody pitied her as the girl who'd nearly been murdered by her biological father, but it was difficult, lying to everyone about the scars that marred her flat stomach, hiding the brokenness behind a thin veil. And it hurt. It hurt that her friends didn't notice the strange behavior, that they didn't care to question the idea that she'd been attacked in a gas station robbery, that they didn't wonder why her parents weren't pursuing the assailant. She pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind because someone knew, and he understood. Jace. Jace knew. Jace knew her like he knew himself. He always could see right through the façade she presented, the same way she'd been able to peer right through his protective arrogance.

Izzy, who'd continued to babble about tonight's plans, began to tug and straighten and re-curl Clary's carroty locks, as Clary's mind faded to a few nights ago. She'd moved directly into Jace's room after returning from the hospital, despite her mother's pleading for her to return home. "I'm a strong, independent, young woman, and I plan on finishing college and continuing my life," she'd said to her mother, trying to keep her voice calm despite the tears rushing down her cheeks. That night, Clary thrashed in the sheets, twisting them around her so tightly she felt she was suffocating. She saw him behind her closed lids. Eyes black as coal, a smile that could freeze fire, blood on his cheek. Her blood? Her mother's? Jace's? She couldn't tell. So she screamed.

"Clary," Jace shook her, his voice concerned, all trace of sleep wiped away by his fear. "Clary, wake up!" Clary heard his voice but felt strangled, constricted in the blankets. She called his name, over and over, begging, pleading for him to rescue her. "Clary, I'm right here," he'd said. "I'll never leave you alone." That was when the nightmares began, and she hadn't had a full night's sleep since. She'd felt guilty because every time she was awake, so was Jace. She knew he'd never tell her he was tired, but between classes and football, she knew that her sleeplessness was taking a toll on his life. Multiple times she'd tried to move back to her room, but the fear of being alone and Jace's reassurance that he was okay stopped her. Clary sighed, resurfacing to find Isabelle stabbing her face with various makeup utensils.

"Honestly, Clary. Could you hold your breath for a minute? It's hot and wet and totally going to ruin my hair." Clary stuck her tongue out and blew spit at her best friend, who squealed and called her a few explicit names but smiled as she continued to apply makeup. "Almost done here…" she mumbled to herself as she placed one last coat of mascara on Clary's lashes. "Voila!" Clary, not bothering to hide her relief that this experience was over, stepped in front of the mirror. As with every time Isabelle put her magic touch into Clary's appearance, Clary was completely mystified. Her eyes were rimmed in brown, bringing out gold flecks in the bright green orbs. Her hair was curled lightly and flowing all the way down her back. She wore a shimmering golden skirt and a cream top, with red high heels to add a pop of color. Isabelle had clasped on a necklace of golden leaves and finished it off with a touch of lip-gloss. "You are simply beautiful, Clary!" Izzy squealed as she applied her own liner. Clary smiled and made to sneak out of the bathroom, only to be caught by a hand whose wrist was dripping in silver bangles. "Claryyyyy, I'm almost ready! And I want to see the look on Jace's face!" Clary rolled her eyes. Izzy just wanted his appreciation.

"Fine."

X.O.X.O.X

"Isabelle, I really don't understand why we couldn't just ride with Simon and Jace." They were seated in Izzy's Camero, speeding through the streets of New York. The radio was cranked, playing random rap music that Isabelle knew every word to.

"Please, Clary," she said in between her rendition of Eminem's "The Monster." "We are fully capable of driving ourselves to this party. We are strong, independent women for God's sake!"

"Down, tiger! No need to whip out the inspirational feminism speeches again." Clary remembered that afternoon and would rather forget the ones about women's freedom of sexuality, starring an exclusive clip of Miley's MTV performance. Even the thought made her shiver.

"Sorry, I just…get carried away sometimes." Clary nodded and let her return to belting out Rihanna's lines. "Get along with the voices inside of my head!"

"Yes, you do," Clary mumbled as Izzy turned onto the street of Pandemonium. Clary's breath hitched in her throat at the sight of the place. It was all lit up now, with people clawing their way to the front of the line just to get a peak at the action. Her stomach felt like lead as Isabelle pulled into a parking space and reached for her bag.

"Alright, Clary. Back straight, big smile, and wave to the crowd now. Just kidding. You're not famous."

"Way to make a girl feel good, Izzy," Clary attempted to say with a steady voice though she felt she was on the verge of hyperventilation.

"I do my best." She watched her friend sashay toward the club in towering thigh-high boots and a little black dress that had less fabric than a bikini. That was definitely an Izzy original.

The New York lights seemed to disappear around Clary as she lifted herself from the car. The night seemed to close in around her, the darkness concealing the evils that could hurt her. Tentacles of demons seemed to brush across her bare arms as she stumbled blindly forward, silently begging Isabelle to come back. The memories were crushing down on her like a boulder as she struggled to keep them at bay. Her breathing became labored and ragged as white hair flashed in the distance. She nearly cried out before reminding herself that Valentine was dead. He could no longer hurt her. She was safe. She willed her feet to move to the entrance of Pandemonium. She heard the bouncing music, the hum of conversation, though the stench of death and despair clung to her like a second skin.

She spotted a peep of golden hair before it disappeared in the crowd. Her heart lifted, and she felt lighter, as if that mere glimpse of him drove away the darkness inside of her. She surged forward with a newfound vigor, knowing nothing except she had to be by him, to touch him, to hear his voice. "Excuse me," she whispered as she bumped into people, weaving her way through the excited and sweaty bodies of other young men and women…and several middle aged men and prowling cougars. She saw him, not his face, but she could just tell it was him. He was dressed in his signature all-black style and chatted casually with Simon, who seemed to be nodding and not talking much. "Jace," she breathed as she wove her fingers through his. Isabelle appeared among the bystanders as Jace finally looked down.

The look in his eyes made all the lost hair worth it. "You are…completely…I don't even think there's a word to describe you right now." Clary grinned.

"Is the golden-tongued Jace Herondale really speechless?" Clary whispered as she heard Isabelle hoot in the background.

"I so have to get this on video. I made Jace Herondale stumble over his words." Clary saw Jace throw Isabelle the finger as his eyes continued to drink her in. "Ooh! Come on, guys! The line is moving!" Isabelle pressed forward, dragging a dazed Simon behind.

"Go on," Jace called. "We'll catch up." He squeezed Clary's hand and led her out of the crowd. "You don't really want to go in there, do you?" he asked as he plopped down onto a bench, pulling Clary into his lap.

"Definitely not," she replied, giggling as he tickled her stomach. Jace kissed the sensitive behind her ear, his warm breath washing over her skin, causing her cheeks to flare.

"Good." They sat there momentarily in silence before Jace popped up, lifting Clary in his arms and beginning to walk. "Are you hungry? I'm hungry. Let's go to Taki's" Clary groaned.

"What is with everyone wanting to go to the places where I've nearly died?" Jace apologized quickly, having momentarily forgotten when Kaylee pushed Clary in front of the car. "It's okay," she whispered as Jace set her on her feet. "Can we go to Central Park?"

"Of course." Jace took her hand and began leading the way to the iconic park.

X.O.X.O.X

Jace and Clary were snuggled together beneath the coverage of a tree, watching as the rain sprinkled down around them. Clary's shoes were muddy and Jace's hair and jacket were soaked, due to the fact that he'd held his jacket above Clary's head to keep her hair dry. Clary looked up at him, noting his distant gaze, the way his eyes were glossy, as if he were in a different world. "Jace?" she asked, playing with his fingers.

"Mmm?"

"What are you thinking about?" Jace laughed, shaking his head and sending water droplets everywhere.

"Just about us." Clary flinched. Why was he thinking about their relationship? Was something wrong? Had her brokenness finally driven him away? Jace knew her thoughts and gently brought her lips to his before she could voice them. "About us. About how we started. About what we've been through. About how far we've come," he murmured, his soft lips whispering over her own. Jace wove his hand through her curls as she opened her mouth to welcome his. Clary broke away and cupped Jace's cheek.

"Did you know that if Kaylee hadn't pushed me in front of that car on that rainy day, I would have never known that the one I'd been dreaming about was you?"  
>Jace looked confused. "What do you mean?" Clary blinked, realizing she'd never shown Jace her painting. She stood up abruptly, beckoning Jace to follow as she sprinted through the rain to his car. "Where are we going?"<p>

"Home," she replied, realizing that home was no longer the bedroom she'd been raised in, but rather the bed she and Jace shared at the Institute. "I have something to show you."

X.O.X.O.X

Clary wove through the hallways in the darkness, bypassing the door to their shared bedroom and instead pushing through the one that she'd called her own. She reached up on the shelf in her closet, her hand searching for the painting that had started everything. As her fingers brushed against the edge, she grabbed it and pulled it down from its resting place. She blew some dust from the surface before speaking. "This," she said gesturing to the painting that Jace was attempting to peek at, "is what I painted after my first night at Pandemonium. It was all I remembered. Just this." She flipped the painting and saw the shock on Jace's face as he looked at it and down at his own chest. "I knew no name, no face, just this." She heard Jace breathe in as he traced the tattoo, the scars, a mirror of his own flesh.

"I don't understand," Jace said. Clary smiled and lowered her picture to the floor, closing the gap between them. Jace's arms automatically folded around her.

"Jace. That was love at first sight for me. I didn't even remember your _name_, but I knew that I had to find you. That I just couldn't live without you." She snuggled in deeper and added, "I still can't." Jace kissed the top of her head. "And then, when I was in the hospital, you showed me your scars. You opened yourself up to me in a way you never had before, and it clicked. That was all the confirmation I needed to know you were for me. That I couldn't ever be the same without you."

Jace's mouth was on hers, hot and excited. She broke away from him, shocked. Jace looked down at her, smiling like he'd won the lottery. "Clary," he breathed before kissing her again. His hands found her hips as she kissed him back, casting away her doubts as she threw her arms around him, her shirt riding up in the process. Jace's cold fingers grazed the skin of her bare stomach, and she gasped, yanking the fabric back down. Jace took her hands in his and kissed her nose before directing her attention to the mirror. "Clary, we all have scars." He smiled. "Someone once told me that they don't show weakness. They show strength, and I think strength is beautiful." He'd been backing Clary over to her bed while talking, and the back of her thighs now touched the mattress. He wrapped one arm around her waist and cradled her head as he lay her down. Her chest heaved up and down. Jace had seen her scars, but just peaks when she'd accidentally let her guard down. She'd never taken her shirt off in front of him and freaked out if he so much as brushed her hip. But tonight, she was immobile, paralyzed by her pure need for him to see her, to share her pain with him and have him shred her insecurities. She gasped as he lifted her shirt up to her ribs but didn't move to stop him. He looked her straight in the eyes as he leaned over her and kissed every raised mark on her skin, calming the blazing shame that had burned in them for an entire year. Jace's lips brushed along her belly button, his nose tracing a straight line up her stomach before his lips united with hers. "Clary, every part of you is beautiful. I wouldn't change anything about you. Ever."

Clary smiled through the tears of freedom. She was free. Free of the insecurities that weighed her down. Free of her father's nightmare that haunted her every minute of the day. Free of the anger and shame that had had her in shackles. Just free. She pressed her lips to Jace's one more time. "Thank you," she breathed, knowing Jace knew the impact that had on her, having experienced it himself so many nights ago.

Jace smiled and helped Clary off the bed, much to her surprise. She'd been prepared to fend off any frisky attempts. Confused, she watched Jace reach down and gaze at her painting another time. "You can keep It," she blurted, blushing immediately afterwards. "I mean, why would you want it when you have the real thing you can look at in the mirror, but if you would like to have it, I'll give it to you. It doesn't matter either way—"

"Clary, I do want it. Thank you." He chuckled and set it aside again. "I just, feel bad because I don't have anything to give you." Clary opened her mouth to say that it was completely okay, but Jace dropped before her on one knee, reaching into his jeans pocket. "Except this." Clary's eyes immediately welled up again as Jace presented her with a ring. It was gold, with a giant square emerald in the center, surrounded by tons of smaller, glittering diamonds. Clary's hands flew up to her mouth. "Clarissa Adele Fairchild," he began, his honey voice as smooth as ever. He'd rehearsed this many times to himself. "You and I," he chuckled. "we've conquered a lot. This ring might seem like a measly representation of the bond we share, but I want to show everyone how strong our love is. You are smart. You are beautiful. You are funny and so brave. You are kind and generous, and you own my heart. This is me offering it to you forever. I want to wake up beside you every day. I want to see your smile and make you laugh. I want to kiss you and make you feel special every second of every minute of every hour. I love you, Testarossa. Will you make me the happiest man alive by marrying me?" Clary saw his shimmering tears as she gave him her hand to slide the ring on.

"I couldn't think of anything else I'd rather do," she whispered as she was swung around the room.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," he stated between kisses before finally setting her down, both breathless and giddy. Clary touched the stone and smiled as Jace lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. "I apologize," he said. "I think I was supposed to do that before I put on the ring. I was just too excited." Clary giggled and kissed him again. He brushed her curls away from her face and pressed his forehead to hers, grinning. His thumb brushed along the smooth emerald. As if feeling the need to explain himself, Jace began speaking. "I chose this stone for two reasons. One," he kissed her lips, "it's the stone of Venus and is thought to preserve love, and two," he kissed her again, "it is the exact color of your eyes." Clary giggled and twisted herself against him, crashing their mouths, the cracks and brokenness in both of them finally sealed with pure love and happiness.

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><p><em>Alright...maybe you know the drill, but if not <strong>21<strong>** reviews** on this chapter gets you a **BONUS SCENE!** And who doesn't want that? So leave me some feedback. Or tell me what you feed your pet unicorn. (I feed mine gold from the end of the rainbow.) Either one. Doesn't matter to me :)_

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


	22. Bonus Chapter

_Alright, Lovelies, a little birdie told me we reached 21 reviews. CONGRATULATIONS, we've reached the end. It's time to say goodbye to Perfect Life, Perfect Spike Jace and Clary, but not without a glimpse into their future first! It's four little short moments in their future that I hope you enjoy. Maybe if you are good enough and review, I will give you more oneshots in the future, but for now...enjoy!_

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><p>Jace stood at the altar, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of his beautiful bride as each couple of the procession entered the sanctuary. He was nervous, to say the least. He had no doubt in his mind that this is what he wanted, that this was everything he'd ever hoped and dreamed for, that Clary was the only one for him, but he was worried that Clary wouldn't feel the same, that she would never glide through the doors and accept him as her husband. That she would stand him up in front of his closest friends and family and leave him broken forever.<p>

He scanned the sea of teary-eyed and proud faces, nodding once at Maryse as she lifted a tissue to her nose. She watched her reach out and clutch Jocelyn's hand, happy that they'd become close after Clary's disappearance. He was also glad that Clary had forgiven her mother, who had only meant to protect her little girl from the ugliness of her true father. Jace's heart broke at the memories of Clary lying still in the cold basement, of the flat line on her heart monitor. He shoved those thoughts aside, relishing in the excitement and hope of today.

The doors open again, but Jace's heart sank when only Isabelle and Alec entered, the maid of honor and best man. They looked so similar it was hard to believe they were not twins. Their black hair was the same color, their skin tanned to the same hue, limbs long and graceful, the only contrast Alec's blue eyes and Izzy's dark ones. Isabelle offered him a smile as she took her position to the left of the altar. Wagner's "Bridal Chorus" sounded from the church organ and there was a rustle as everyone rose from their seats. Jace wiggled his toes in his shoes to keep from visibly shaking. He could feel a bead of sweat collecting on his neck and was grateful when Alec shifted and discreetly brushed it away. Jace's heart leapt into his throat as the doors parted as wide as they could, and Clary stepped into the open, her arm woven through Luke's. Jace momentarily registered the look on Luke's face, one that was meant to say _screw this up and I'll kill you_ but was softened by tears forming in the corners before landing directly on his beloved. Her appearance did not disappoint. Her fiery hair was woven intricately into a braided halo, adorned with pale yellow flowers. Her green eyes were accentuated by brown eyeliner, and her dress hugged her hips, sparkling in the low light of the church. Suddenly, she was too far away from him. He wanted her right here, pressed up against him, not even the barrier of clothes between them. She was moving to slow, just out of reach. Slowly, she crept closer, until finally Izzy was holding her bouquet and her hands were in his.

Their eyes connected, gold melting into green like so many times before. Each time his heart beat a little faster. Each time he fell in love again. He smiled at her, his insecurities melting away when her lips pulled up into a genuine grin, her eyes filled with complete love and devotion. Jace barely remembered exchanging their rings, except that Clary fumbled slightly to get his onto his large fingers. Without any warning, the priest finally said the words Jace had been waiting to hear since he'd met Clary. "You may kiss the bride." And oh Lord, he did.

X.O.X.O.X

Clary sank her toes into the warm sand, letting the sunshine wash over her body as Jace toted the bags to the little beach cabin they would be staying in for the next two weeks, courtesy of Maryse and Robert. "Jace!" she yelled as she saw a dolphin leap in the distance. Ten minutes here, and Hawaii was already magical. She squealed as strong arms wrapped around her waist, and teeth nipped seductively at her neck.

"What was that, Mrs. Herondale?" Jace breathed into her ear. Her heart fluttered at her new name. She'd only had it for three days, but it felt like it belonged to her, like she was always meant to be Jace's wife. She giggled, and she felt Jace pout against her skin. "I wanted to hear you scream my name again." This earned him a shove and a laugh as Clary tried to glare him down with disapproving eyes.

"Mr. Herondale, we've only just arrived. Can't you have any other thought than me screaming your name?" Jace smirked and Clary realized she'd just made a very big mistake.

"Oh, I have plenty of other thoughts," he murmured, placing his hands on her hips and pressing their bodies together. "I have thoughts of you in the bed, in the shower, in the ocean." He kissed her heavily on the lips, and Clary began to feel herself melting into him just as he pulled away. "And I intend to share every single one of them with you." He winked as he sashayed away, leaving Clary breathlessly staring at his retreating figure. She bit her lip, excited and yearning for Jace. So she didn't the only obvious thing to do in this situation. She screamed his name.

X.O.X.O.X

Jace let himself into the townhouse he and Clary had bought when the draft had brought him to the Green Bay Packers. He was exhausted from his heavy off-season training, and he couldn't wait to snuggle up with Clary. Maybe he'd ask her to rub his sore muscles. Or a little more than his muscles. Whichever. He was milling around with those thoughts when he wandered into the kitchen, absently opening the fridge and pouring himself a glass of milk. He lifted it to his lips when a scream caused him to drop the glass and take off running toward his and Clary's bedroom. He made it up the stairs in record speed, finding his wife of two years on the floor curled over something in her hands.

"What's wrong, Testarossa? Are you hurt?" He immediately wrapped her in his arms and saw that she was smiling. "Oh my gosh, Clary. You scared me!" She laughed probably choking back a remark about how big scary Jace Herondale had been scared, and he joined in. "So, since there wasn't a serial killer in our home, what brought on the scream?" Silently, she handed him the object in her hands. It was a little stick with a plus sign on it. "I don't understand. Is this some new technology from work? What does it do?" He began shaking it up and down.

"Oh Jace," she sighed, suppressing a giggle. "I'm pregnant." Jace's eyes grew wide, and a smile stretched out across his face. They'd been trying for a year and a half and had almost given up.

"For real?" Clary nodded, and his mouth devoured hers. He pulled away and looked at the stick a little disgustedly. "Uh, Clary…" he put the stick on the floor and raked his fingers across the carpet. "That wasn't the end you peed on…was it?"

X.O.X.O.X

"Damn it, Jace!" She screamed against the pain. "You pinky promised me no more hospitals!" She breathed heavily and let her head drop back against the pillow, her chest heaving up and down.

"But I do love the way you look in the gowns. It gives me a nice view of your—" Clary's slap cut off his sentence, so instead he finished with a chuckle. "I know I promised, honey," he whispered, brushing his lips across the knuckles, white from strain, clenched tightly around his own aching hand. "But this one falls on both of us." She groaned, her eyes growing wide and then squeezing shut as the doctor coached her to push again. Jace wiped a bead of sweat from her face. They'd been at this for three hours. "He's a stubborn one, isn't he?"

"Just like his father," Clary growled between clenched teeth, her grip on his hand tightening even more, causing Jace to bite back a yelp. He knew his pain didn't even amount to what she was feeling. He risked a look down toward the foot of the bed, but immediately turned away. Something about two medical people staring up Clary's dress was slightly embarrassing to him. Clary didn't seem to see it that way though as she continued to follow their orders as if they weren't staring into the most private part of her body. Her eyes sought Jace's again, and he could tell she was exhausted. "You can do it, Testarossa," he encouraged. "Did you hear the doctor? One more push and our baby will be here." That seemed to give Clary the motivation she needed as she grunted with exertion. Her frail and swollen body heaved off the bed and then sank back onto the sheets as she sighed in relief. A loud cry shattered the silence in the room.

"Congratulations," the nurse, an older lady with smile lines by her eyes, said, wrapping the squirming bundle in a little blanket after clipping the cord. "You are the proud parents of a baby girl." Jace's face broke out into a grin as he gazed down at Clary, her exhausted face pulling up into a smile.

"You did it, love," he murmured, kissing her lips despite the audience. She'd pried her fingers from his and reached out toward her child, tears streaming down her face as she looked at her golden-eyed daughter. "She has you're red hair. I shall call her Testarossa Jr."

"That is _not_ the name we are putting on the birth certificate!" Clary called at the nurse who was about to ask her how that was spelled.

"Alrighty," the nurse said with a small laugh of relief. One could only imagine the names that some children received. "What is her name?"

Clary smiled up at Jace and said, "Celine Marie Herondale." His mother's name brought tears to his eyes as he reached down toward his daughter, her fingers curling automatically around his big one. He couldn't think of anything else more perfect than his little family.

"I love you," he said, leaning down to kiss Clary's lips. "And I love you, Celine Marie," he added, pressing a kiss to her teeny tiny nose. All of high school, Jace had only imagined football. Football or death as his father would have said. He'd grown up thinking that all that was in his future would be football, and the scars on his skin showed that his father believed that also. But standing in the hospital room, with his beautiful wife and perfect daughter, Jace couldn't believe how wrong he'd been. Football had never been his true future. It had been a guide to his current future, where he was now. Family—that was his true future, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

* * *

><p><em>I'd like to thank the faithful readers that have stuck with me throughout the story, throughout the long waits for updates because of my crazy and unpredictable life, and throughout my crazy comments and remarks. Thank you. I truly love you and appreciate you! :) XOXOX. <em>

_All My Love_

_~BallinBlonde21_


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